Opinion

There must be room for some #MeToo men to prove they can evolve: Robyn Urback

We have to have a mechanism for those who behaved wrongly, but still can contribute something good. And the best mechanism, in the case of Louis C.K. and others, might be to just watch and let them try.

We'll have stupidity as long as we have humanity. It bodes poorly for all of us if we don't allow for reform

Louis CK performs onstage at Comedy Central Night Of Too Many Stars at Beacon Theatre on Feb. 28, 2015 in New York City. (Mike Coppola/Getty) (Mike Coppola/Getty)

Rapper Chris Brown's first professional appearance after pleading guilty to assaulting his then-girlfriend, singer/songwriter Rihanna, was at a stop on Lil Wayne's 2009 "America's Most Wanted" tour. Brown's appearance was a surprise: he filled in for Drake during a performance of the song Every Girl.

Back in February of that year, Brown gave Rihanna two black eyes and split her lip. Six months later, on a stage in Virginia, Brown did the moonwalk.

Brown eventually found his way back into the music community's good graces. Though he's actually never taken much of a reprieve from violence, Brown has nevertheless performed at the Grammy Awards, sold tens of millions of albums and received numerous awards and accolades. For a career that once seemed permanently condemned to the celebrity scrap heap, Brown has managed a quite remarkable comeback.

Nearly a decade later, the men whose careers have been derailed by the #MeToo movement — or, more precisely: derailed by their own actions, held accountable by the #MeToo movement — will surely be hoping for the same sort of redemption.

This week, one of those men — comedian Louis C.K., who was outed for forcing women to watch him masturbate, and lying about it — made a surprise appearance at a comedy club in New York City. It was the first time C.K. had performed since admitting the allegations against him were true.

The performance was condemned almost immediately: it was too soon, tone deaf, self-entitled, undeserved. And indeed, a good case can be made for each claim. But the more difficult question to answer in this scenario is this: If C.K.'s return to the microphone came in the "worst possible way," as one writer put it, what could conceivably be the best possible way?

Rapper Chris Brown assaulted singer/songwriter Rihanna in 2009. He nonetheless was able to revive his career after a series of mea culpas that included pleading guilty to the crime and posting a public apology on YouTube. (Scott Roth/Invision/AP)

Brown's return to the stage came with a series of mea culpas: he pleaded guilty to felony assault; he posted an apology on YouTube; he gave an in-depth one-on-one interview in which he owned his actions; he sought counselling (which was also a condition of his sentence). At the time, these gestures were similarly condemned as too soon, too staged, too self-entitled. But Brown, somehow, overcame them.

Still, some people will never see beyond his past. I know this because I'm one of them — the kind who will hit "skip" if one of his songs sneaks onto my playlist. I don't entirely know why that is, but I think it has to do with doubting the genuineness of his reform, given that Brown's anger has led to violent altercations in the years since his assault. 

There are some men of the #MeToo movement who should not — and likely will not — get the opportunity for a second chance: the Harvey Weinsteins, Kevin Spaceys and Bill Cosbys (though the latter example emerged just before #MeToo), whose predatory behaviour seemed habitual, methodical, exploitative and deeply abusive. In those cases, it wasn't just a few mistakes, it was who they are.

The Louis C.K.s are more complicated. These are the men who often acted foolishly, stupidly and absolutely unacceptably, but have shown they have capacity to understand that what they did was wrong. C.K. has actually demonstrated that through his comedy; he has joked, for example, about how amazing it is that men still manage to find dates given that the biggest threat to women is ... men. There's empathy in his comedy, but at the same time also a disregard for his actions. That's what makes his case so complex: while he unquestionably did bad things, can we condemn him forever as a bad person?

Creating new normals

Social movements truly can be the genesis for changes in behaviour. The women's suffrage movement of the early 20th century, for example, created a generation of children who saw their mothers as influential beyond the confines of their homes. Second-wave feminists created a generation of children who understood that women shouldn't be called "honey" in the workplace. And the #MeToo movement should see to a new generation of children who will know that sexual harassment doesn't have to be a part of women's everyday lives.

For those of us who live through these transitions, there is an overlap of new sensibilities and old mindsets. That's not to excuse bad behaviour but simply to acknowledge that it will always exist. We will have stupidity as long as we have humanity. It does not bode well for any of us if we have no patience for reform.

While criminal offenders will be tried and imprisoned, and social pariahs will ostracized, we have to have a mechanism for those who behaved wrongly but still can contribute something good, or perhaps just better themselves. And the best mechanism, in this case and many others, might be to just watch and let them try.

There probably isn't such a thing as a "good" comeback for men like C.K.; a few more months, or a smaller venue, or another acknowledgment of his mistakes probably wouldn't have changed much in the grand scheme of things. Many will insist he shouldn't have a comeback at all, that he should never return to the stage.

But what purpose does it serve to cast off as irredeemable people with the capacity to learn from their past? What message does it send about owning up to mistakes if we hold that there be no opportunity for second chances? 

C.K.'s reputation has taken a hit, and he will forever live with that stigma, comeback or not. That is his punishment. Ideally, he's come to an understanding about acceptable ways to treat women along with it.

That said, because life is hilariously cruel, there's a possibility he hasn't — and will still be unconscionably successful. In those cases, I find the best thing to do is unwind with a comedian who doesn't play with his penis in front of others, or hit "skip" on that song that has slipped into your playlist.

This column is part of CBC's Opinion section. For more information about this section, please read this editor's blog and our FAQ.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Robyn Urback

Columnist

Robyn Urback was an opinion columnist with CBC News and a producer with the CBC's Opinion section. She previously worked as a columnist and editorial board member at the National Post. Follow her on Twitter at: