GABRIELLE UNION ON THE NATE PARKER SCANDAL: "I CANNOT TAKE THESE ALLEGATIONS LIGHTLY"

  

GABRIELLE UNION ON THE NATE PARKER SCANDAL: "I CANNOT TAKE THESE ALLEGATIONS LIGHTLY"

Just the other day, we were sitting in the office, discussing the whole Nate Parker rape allegation scandal and we wondered what Gabrielle Union had to say about all of this.

After all, Union is a rape survivor. She collaborated with Parker as his costar in The Birth of Nation. And, as I learned this morning, her character in the film is raped. In our conversation, we wondered what she could possibly say about all of this. She is in an incredibly tough position. She dedicated herself to this project. Yet, she knows, firsthand, what it feels like to be violated, sexually. And while we assumed, Union would remain silent in all of this, she did not.

She recently penned an Op-Ed piece for The Los Angeles Times sharing her thoughts on the allegations, the film and the problem of rape culture in our society as a whole. Initially, I was just going to pull out key pieces from her essay. But all of it is important. You can read it in its entirety below.

Twenty-four years ago I was raped at gunpoint in the cold, dark backroom of the Payless shoe store where I was then working. Two years ago I signed on to a brilliant script called "The Birth of a Nation," to play a woman who was raped. One month ago I was sent a story about Nate Parker, the very talented writer, director and star of this film. Seventeen years ago Nate Parker was accused and acquitted of sexual assault. Four years ago the woman who accused him committed suicide.

Different roads circling one brutal, permeating stain on our society. A stain that is finely etched into my own history. Rape is a wound that throbs long after it heals. And for some of us the throbbing gets too loud. Post traumatic stress syndrome is very real and chips away at the soul and sanity of so many of us who have survived sexual violence.  

Since Nate Parker's story was revealed to me, I have found myself in a state of stomach-churning confusion. I took this role because I related to the experience. I also wanted to give a voice to my character, who remains silent throughout the film. In her silence, she represents countless black women who have been and continue to be violated. Women without a voice, without power. Women in general. But black women in particular. I knew I could walk out of our movie and speak to the audience about what it feels like to be a survivor.

My compassion for victims of sexual violence is something that I cannot control. It spills out of me like an instinct rather than a choice. It pushes me to speak when I want to run away from the platform. When I am scared. Confused. Ashamed. I remember this part of myself and must reach out to anyone who will listen - other survivors, or even potential perpetrators.

As important and ground-breaking as this film is, I cannot take these allegations lightly. On that night, 17-odd years ago, did Nate have his date's consent? It's very possible he thought he did. Yet by his own admission he did not have verbal affirmation; and even if she never said "no," silence certainly does not equal "yes." Although it's often difficult to read and understand body language, the fact that some individuals interpret the absence of a "no" as a "yes" is problematic at least, criminal at worst. That's why education on this issue is so vital.

As a black woman raising brilliant, handsome, talented young black men, I am cognizant of my responsibility to them and their future. My husband and I stress the importance of their having to walk an even straighter line than their white counterparts. A lesson that is heartbreaking and infuriating, but mandatory in the world we live in. We have spent countless hours focused on manners, education, the perils of drugs. We teach them about stranger-danger and making good choices. But recently I've become aware that we must speak to our children about boundaries between the sexes. And what it means to not be a danger to someone else.

To that end, we are making an effort to teach our sons about affirmative consent. We explain that the onus is on them to explicitly ask if their partner consents. And we tell them that a shrug or a smile or a sigh won't suffice. They have to hear "yes."

Regardless of what I think may have happened that night 17 years ago, after reading all 700 pages of the trial transcript, I still don't actually know. Nor does anyone who was not in that room. But I believe that the film is an opportunity to inform and educate so that these situations cease to occur on college campuses, in dorm rooms, in fraternities, in apartments or anywhere else young people get together to socialize.

I took this part in this film to talk about sexual violence. To talk about this stain that lives on in our psyches. I know these conversations are uncomfortable and difficult and painful. But they are necessary. Addressing misogyny, toxic masculinity, and rape culture is necessary. Addressing what should and should not be deemed consent is necessary.

Think of all the victims who, like my character, are silent. The girls sitting in their dorm rooms, scared to speak up. The wife who is abused by her husband. The woman attacked in an alley. The child molested. Countless souls broken from trans-violence attacks. It is for you that I am speaking. This is real. We are real. Sexual violence happens more often than anyone can imagine. And if the stories around this film do not prove and emphasize this, then I don't know what does.

It is my hope that we can use this as an opportunity to look within. To open up the conversation. To reach out to organizations which are working hard to prevent these kinds of crimes. And to support its victims. To donate time or money. To play an active role in creating a ripple that will change the ingrained misogyny that permeates our culture. And to eventually wipe the stain clean.

I cannot express how much I appreciate Union for taking the time to pen this essay. There are so many in her position who would have simply remained silent; or worse, would have issued a statement similar to Parker's, speaking about the passage of time since the alleged incident. But she said that the wounds of rape throb, even after years, even after they've healed. She could have said that Parker's personal life shouldn't stand in the way of this important film. But she didn't. She stood up for so many sexual assault survivors who haven't had the will or ability to speak. Her essay speaks for the women, children and even men who have been afraid to do so or those who did speak and were dismissed. I absolutely love that she presented this as not just a woman's issue but a Black woman's issue, as we are so often asked and expected to put our gender concerns on the back burner for the overall uplift of the race. I'm hopeful that her piece will serve as another perspective in this discussion about whether the story told in this film is more important than the issues of rape, consent and rape culture that plague so many women around the world. She really didn't have to. But for all those that she represents, I'm so glad she did.


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