UK Media Personality Russell Brand has added the role of Convicted Rapist to his resume. His conviction for rape and sexual assault has led to a lot of commentary about his behavior, his enablers and the institutions that shielded him. Many of the criminal allegations came directly from the places where he worked. This also has led me to question my own silence decades ago following sexual harassment at work. Why didn’t I speak up?
Silence always protects the powerful at the cost of their victims, and that makes me think about my own silence in the face of workplace sexual harassment.
While I understand the difficulty of looking away from the sheer spectacle, the sheer Russell Brandness of it all – “a hot mess, inside a dumpster fire, inside a train wreck” – I am more interested in interrogating the silence that protects predators in the workplace. Silence was Brand’s most effective protection for decades. Complainants were silenced in real time out of fear of adverse publicity, fear of legal/financial threats, fear of loss of livelihood.
These events have resurfaced my own silence from decades ago, when I was the object of sexual harassment at a respected white-shoe law firm. To set the scene – I never dressed provocatively in the workplace or sought attention based on physical appearance. I was a Summer Associate who gloried in wearing the mid-length skirt suits and structured dresses of the middle-1980s. The style for women in the workplace was conservative, verging on the Amish. Even dating back to high school where I was active in Forensics, i.e. debate, oratory, I dressed in gray flannels and dress shirts for competitions. I was a bookworm who knew for a long time that I would be an attorney; I loved dressing the part. I mention this because, even today, we haven’t entirely stopped asking what a woman was wearing – either verbally or inside our own head, to look for an explanation or excuse for sexual harassment.

My first summer after I started law school, I worked in Washington DC. I received mentoring and training, and never faced even the hint of harassment. It was a wonderful experience. It wasn’t a law firm that I had any interest in working in after graduation and that is okay for a 1L. After my second year, I had to start focusing on what I would do after graduation. It was important for my future that I receive the all important permanent Offer.

The summer of 1985 I joined a large Chicago firm with a formal Summer Associates program, led by a Managing Partner whose name fortunately has been lost to the mists of time. I worked hard, and my supervising attorneys were happy. I made friends among the other Summer Associates. I also had long-time friends working and living in Chicago and enjoyed getting to know the city. I loved Chicago and was very happy to be working closer to my family in the Detroit area. All was well until the midsummer Summer Associates dinner.
While I was in the restroom, the Managing Partner – charged with care and feeding of Summer Associates – made a loud, lewd pronouncement of what he wanted to ask me to do to him. No one reported this to other senior partners in the firm. This was 1985.
I guess it could have been worse, at least I was not in the room. It was left to one of my closer friends among the summer associates to tell me what had transpired later that evening. He said he could not keep it from me, and I think he was right to tell me. But it ruined my wonderful summer.
I had never exchanged more than a few words with this Managing Partner and felt buffaloed. I was in a tailspin. How could I continue my work? Could I still get my all-important Offer? The first hard thing was getting up the next morning and walking into the office, in the knowledge that anyone – perhaps everyone – knew what he said and would think terrible things about me. (It did not occur to me that he was the one who should be judged.)
I decided to wear my nicest dress the next day, to continue to dress for success and to pretend that nothing had happened. That was the only way I could back to the office with some sense of self, in a a scenario I did not understand and where I felt utterly lost. It never occurred to me that there was someone I could turn to in the law firm. (Was there someone I could turn to?) Nor did I understand that what happened to me could happen to anyone else. It felt so personal and demeaning. I did not realize that this was most likely far from the first time that this Managing Partner had singled out a junior employee for sexual harassment. Or that he would likely do it again.
As a Managing Partner he was a valuable asset to the law firm and so was shielded from the consequences of his actions. He was protected and enabled by a system where every Summer Associate who heard him needed his approval for their own future livelihood. So I continued to show up to work and kept my head down. I worked hard and I got my offer. I also became more reclusive in my time off, stopped wanting to go out with my friends, and frankly became a bit squirrelly. I lost some of my emotional equilibrium and overreacted to perceived slights.
Most of all I looked forward to the end of the summer when I could go back to Michigan. I got my Offer and never went back to work at that law firm. Fortunately I had the opportunity to interview for a law clerkship and ended up with a great job as a Motions Clerk at the Court of Appeals for the 7th Circuit in Chicago.
It was only years later that I realized that my silence came not only at my own expense but also contributed to an environment where a Managing Partner could continue to abuse his power without accountability.
Similarly Russell Brand was seen as a valuable asset to his employers – MTV, BBC, Channel 4 – and protected by management, colleagues and friends from accountability through collective silence.
So where does this leave me – leave any of us who have either been the object of sexual harassment in the workplace – or have witnessed it – and remained silent?
A large part of 2nd Middle Age is the ability to look back with less self-judgment, to recognize and correct the patterns of the past and at the same time forgive our younger self for not knowing better. Hindsight is 20/20. The person I am in 2026 can see clearly where the 24 year old Summer Associate in 1985 could not. Still, I am sorry now that I did not speak up and for what it cost me and others. Forgiving my younger self does not mean giving a free pass to abuse of power.
First of all, young men and women leaving home for summer jobs need to understand that bad things can happen and it is not their fault. That if someone is abusing power to harm others, they can and should speak up. As parents we need to prepare our children for the worst, even while we hope for the best. And most of all we all need to hold those in power accountable for their actions and to protect the vulnerable.
The danger is that the spectacle of Russell Brand is seen as an entertainment and not a cautionary tale of what happens when we don’t take active steps to protect against abuse of power in the workplace.






















































































































































