Sara Ahmed is a British feminist activist and independent scholar whose work, weaving feminism, queerness, and decolonial practice, has significantly contributed to the development of intersectional activism in recent decades.
After The Feminist Killjoy Handbook (Fandango, 2024), which spread Ahmed’s thinking to a wide audience, including in Italy, the author returns to bookstores, again with Fandango, with Don’t Say No on Your Own – Art and Activism of Denunciation.
The book develops the theme of sexual harassment within institutions, academics foremost, outlining (also thanks to the accumulation of testimonies so similar that they nearly overlap) a series of mechanisms that reproduce themselves in the same way, from the secondary victimization of women who summon the courage to report a harassment, to the inability of an effective and adequate response from the institution and the figures who should protect victims. A text of great importance also considering the author’s biography, who left the academic milieu starting an independent career precisely because of a harassment incident suffered by several female students at the university where Ahmed taught.
Sara Ahmed, the harassment within an institution becomes a systemic problem, extending beyond the individuals involved and turning into an issue that concerns the entire community. However, as the cases she recounts in her book (and as the news we read every day shows), institutions tend to defend themselves rather than the victim. In this way, a logical reversal occurs, whereby the person who files a report ends up under accusation themselves and the report itself, from a tool for supporting the victim, becomes a weapon at the disposal of the institution.
“Every new day there is more violence to absorb—more stories of sexual harassment, more examples of how institutions protect themselves by protecting the harasser. But the very fact that we know these stories is primarily due to the actions taken by the victims or survivors, or by journalists with a political and feminist conscience. If Jane Doe had not brought Cornell University to court, we would not know this story. If feminist students had not made public the names of the perpetrators, we would not know their names. I try to remind myself of this when all of this seems unbearable: how much we know thanks to those who are reacting and fighting.”
In the book, it emerges how sexual harassment is often treated as a matter related to the offender’s manner of acting, almost as a question of “attitude,” aimed at downplaying its gravity. The victim is thus placed in an uncomfortable position, because their reaction is interpreted as exaggerated. It is a defensive mechanism characteristic of patriarchal culture: in her view, what practices can be used to overturn it and show its baselessness?
“For us it is very difficult to find a solution to institutional problems, in part precisely because that is how institutional problems often remain unresolved: it is expected that the victims or other people will find the solutions. I think we must start from the place we are in. Most of us work in contexts where there are laws and policies against harassment and bullying in the workplace. It is therefore important to highlight the gap between what organizations claim to do and what they actually do. When stories of rape, sexual violence, and sexual harassment emerge, organizations will continue to claim that they acted correctly and had a zero-tolerance policy, until it becomes impossible for them to keep claiming it. Unfortunately, organizations tend to recognize their complicity only when they can no longer afford not to — and we have seen this also in the Cornell case.”
In what way?
“It was only when former students launched a petition, which threatened a loss of revenue, that the university announced an independent investigation. I believe we need as many feminists as possible to write about these issues: it really helps our community share our thoughts and develop our analyses. And one of the main motivations for writing the book was that people kept telling me it had been useful to know what had happened when others had filed a complaint. In this way, we are shown what we probably already know: I am not alone. It is a broader problem. And therefore, I am not alone either.”
In several parts of the book, the theme of the difference between “consequence” and “punishment” emerges. What should be normal consequences of misbehavior are interpreted—by the harasser and by the system—as punishments.
“Mariame Kaba (American activist) distinguishes very well between consequences and punishment. She suggests that punishing means ‘inflicting cruelty and suffering on people.’ By contrast, ‘those in power who step down from their positions are a consequence, not a punishment. Why? Because we should have boundaries. And because what you did was wrong and having power is a privilege. That means we can take it away. You no longer have power.’ What I wanted to show is how the loss of power is experienced (and explained) by those who hold power as a punishment. And so the feminist, or the woman, who says no to sexual harassment (to use the phrase ‘sexual harassment’ means saying no to certain forms of conduct) is interpreted as motivated by a desire to punish. This psychological profile should be familiar to anyone involved in feminism: we are close to the territory of the feminist killjoy, the feminist killjoy who is seen as bad and eager to deprive others of what belongs to them, of their joy, their happiness, their success, because of what she lacks.”
That’s what happened to her as well.
“When I stood on the side of the students who had filed a complaint at Goldsmiths University, this was the version of myself that I saw circulating: that I simply wanted their center and their students for myself. We are essentially talking about how anti-feminism operates at the institutional level. It helps diagnose the problem, even if we do not have a solution!”
She wrote Don’t Say No on Your Own with a cumulative-writing technique: the theses she advances are supported by the accounts of the lived experiences of dozens of women. These experiences are similar in nature and consequences to the point of being almost interchangeable, thus highlighting the enormity of the problem.
“Yes, I believe that listening to complaints collectively, stitching together fragments of different people’s experiences, allows us to see something other than what is happening. So it is about similarity, but it also leads to something more than mere accumulation. It changes the frame, because we begin to see what I call reproductive mechanisms: the fact that so much is suppressed is part of how institutions reproduce themselves as institutions destined only for some people.”
The book also highlights a mental health protection issue for people who suffer harassment. For this reason, as she stresses, not all victims may be able to report abuses and deal with all that follows from reporting. Do you think there are ways to effectively safeguard the mental health of women within institutions?
“It’s important to recognize that not everyone can report or lodge a complaint about the abuses they suffer. But I also think that one of the outcomes of my research is the psychic cost of not reporting: it can leave people feeling ‘crushed’ by the system, to use a phrase from one participant in my research. Filing a complaint can feel like something that is taken away from us—and there is truth in that. Often, organizations drag out the procedures related to complaints, so we waste time and energy and may even put our livelihoods at risk. But reporting can also give back something: an awareness, the sense of having tried, and also other people. Reporting often means discovering other people who have reported.”
Don’t be alone, then.
“For our mental health we need other people who have already been through it and understand, who know how power works. Another way to say it is that for our mental health we need feminism! And a feminist community!”
Questo libro dialoga direttamente con The Feminist Killjoy Handbook. Non è soltanto l’attivista femminista a essere una guastafeste, ma anche chiunque denunci di aver subito una molestia, senza magari avere necessariamente un percorso di attivismo alle spalle, diventa una guastafeste. Chi è, allora, una guastafeste?
“A killjoy isn’t necessarily even a person. The killjoy concerns the place where an obstacle to happiness is identified. For example, as a racially gendered woman, talking about race at feminist events often becomes an act of killjoy, in the sense of something that spoils feminist joy. The very word ‘race’ can be enough to obstruct a sense of feminist solidarity. It can function as a reminder of a history some people would prefer to forget. So yes, reporting harassment often means becoming a killjoy, and this tells us something about harassment itself, which is so often hidden: it’s as if, by bringing the problem to light, you yourself make it exist.”
Becoming a killjoy.
“This is the dynamic of the killjoy: it is assumed that, if I stop talking about harassment, they would disappear. So they want you to stop talking about it. Or to disappear. If we are not willing to do either, we take on the role of the killjoy. It is at that moment that this attitude becomes closer to an activist stance.”
What is a feminist ear?
“The feminist ear is what we have when we listen to a complaint—every form of discourse that is often dismissed as meaningless, or as signs of excessive sensitivity, reactivity or even hysteria. We take the time needed and listen to every voice. We listen to those who are not heard. And we listen to the way in which they are not heard. A woman, Stephanie, said: ‘If you find yourself in a certain situation and you complain, then you become the woman who moans, the lesbian who moans. And you can hear the change in your voice and in the dynamics of meetings. And you don’t like hearing yourself speak that way, but you always end up finding yourself in that situation again.’
What did she mean?
“I hear that very much—the again. We are perceived as broken records, as if we are stuck on the same points. But we file the same complaints precisely because the same things keep happening. And the same things keep happening because they have not listened to our complaints. Conversely, our complaints are buried by organizations, filed in folders that no one can find. Being feminist ears, listening to complaints, therefore requires us to engage in the necessary action to pull them out of the folders and bring them into the world.”
What practical advice can help build a community capable of supporting someone who reports a harassment?
“Building a community is the most practical thing you can do. Often, when you file a complaint, the organization will keep the process confidential. They’ll tell you not to talk about it with others. Keep talking. Keep making connections. Take a break if you need it. Share your experiences. You’ll quickly realize that you are not alone. Keep writing as well. Consider yourself engaged in research on the organization. Keep track of everything. And read. Read feminist books, especially the most incendiary ones!”
