The Matt Lauer Effect

Intelligent Courage

What I know for sure is that speaking your truth is the most powerful tool we all have.

—OPRAH WINFREY, Golden Globes 2018

WE’VE ALL READ the headlines. Matt Lauer. Harvey Weinstein. Charlie Rose. Women are finally feeling more comfortable with talking about sexual harassment and assault . . . but it still keeps happening. When something is a well-kept secret, or you’re going up against a superior, how do you find the courage and strength to stand up and do something without fearing retaliation or being branded a liar? Taking it a step further, how do you tackle the monumental task of changing workplace culture?

By speaking out the right way, that’s how.

Whether dealing with sexist comments or full-on sexual harassment and assault, remember: you’re not alone. A 2018 survey by the nonprofit Stop Street Harassment found just over 80 percent of women had experienced sexual harassment in one form or another during their lifetime. Just as there are degrees of inappropriateness, there are different ways to handle each situation.

BABY WEINSTEIN

The first time a male made a sexist and inappropriate comment to me was in the third grade, by a boy named Ross. I remember it like it was yesterday. Ross had greasy, sandy blonde hair, buck teeth, and a pig-like nose and wore round shiny gold glasses with a double bridge before it was the hipster, trendy thing to do.

While my eight-year-old self didn’t know the word “racist,” I knew he was not a good person for the icky way I felt when he stretched his eyes into two slits and called me “Wing Wong Ding Dong.” I didn’t know the word “sexist,” but knew saying things about my looks, other girls’ looks, and our 20-something-year-old teacher Ms. Karnow’s looks was wrong.

To deal with Ross, my underdeveloped child brain used the first and only response instinct it knew: violence. Since I didn’t want to touch the slimeball (boys were so gross), I would eat my lunch and use the plastic baggie that held my sandwich as a glove/barrier to pinch Ross on various parts of his body until he started screaming.

Ross must’ve been into sadism because not only did he seem to enjoy being punished, this never solved a thing. He’d come back to school the very next day, with renewed enthusiasm and even more remarks and actions like telling me he loved me, I was sexy, and he wanted to marry me. All of this, of course, made me feel continually uncomfortable. How does an eight-year-old know the word “sexy” anyway? After a year of fending off this kiddy perv, he thankfully moved away.

Twenty-eight years later, it turns out the world is full of Ross’s who can’t be stopped with a plastic baggie and workplace violence. They’re also a hundred times worse.

By now, you know all about Mario Batali, Les Moonves, Kevin Spacey, and the multitude of famous, powerful men who’ve fallen from grace because of their alleged actions. The New York Times even published an article in 2017 naming 71 high-profile men to fall from power following the Harvey Weinstein uncovering . . . and that number only represents the ones we know about. #MeToo is just as strong today as it was when it first gained momentum after actress-turned-activist Alyssa Milano made the call to action in the fall of 2017 for women to start speaking out about their experiences using the hashtag on Twitter. The idea is strength in numbers. Remarkable shows of strength and solidarity have emerged since #MeToo was formed, and not just from the millions of Tweets. You’ve got “Silence Breakers” like Adama Iwu, a lobbyist who rallied about 150 women to speak out about their experiences with sexual harassment after she was victimized herself, and Janete Perez, who co-led the Women’s March in San Francisco and rallies for females to vote to make their voices heard. But how do we turn those Tweets into action . . . and ultimately widespread change?

STAND UP IN STEPS

During my entire career, spanning six cities (five on-air), whenever I told a coworker or friend about something that made me feel like I did in third grade with Ross Bronstein all over again, the immediate response was “Go to HR,” or “You gotta tell the boss.” But I was petrified to do so, not wanting to ruffle any feathers or be pegged as a complainer. You may have a similar feeling if you are going through this in your own workplace.

Growing up in a Chinese household where stamina and tolerance were two of the most admired qualities in a person, I figured I could avoid these offenders and push the incidents under the rug.

But then there was Liam.

Liam was the jovial fill-in anchor whose quick and clever quips and uncanny talent of impersonating anybody in an instant made him a fan favorite and a fun and likable colleague. He was always one to stop by the desk of a new employee to make small talk and genuinely seemed interested in whatever the other person had to say. Too bad his lightning-quick wit also applied to his inappropriate comments and the way his sparkling hazel eyes would sometimes scan my body as if to mentally undress me.

There were a lot of things about our working relationship I liked. When I was new, and he was assigned a big-name interview, he’d offer it to me first in an effort to help build my credibility in the market. He would nominate me for special assignments, which the other on-air talent coveted. He had a down-to-earth quality I liked in a desk partner (AKA his ego wasn’t the size of Texas), and I also enjoyed how dorky he was in his efforts to be “cool,” like referring to himself in the third person as “Rad Man” despite his black orthopedic shoes and pleated pants. Bottom line: he felt like a friend. Just a really perverted one.

It was these things that allowed me to let slide the barrage of inappropriateness. His excessive and deliberate use of the word “penetration” during conversation or blatant breast-staring. But the last straw for me revolved around his audio earpiece cord.

Liam and I had just completed a newscast and were headed down the hall into the newsroom when I noticed he was twirling his earpiece cord (in the business, it’s called an IFB cord and helps us hear our producer) like a Valley Girl twirling a strand of hair. He seemed to be in a good mood, so I joked wagging my finger in the air and moving my neck side to side and said:

“Liam, don’t you be twirling that cord at me!”

His response was unexpectedly bad, even by Liam standards, and caused me to nearly stumble on the perfectly flat carpet.

“Oh, trust me, I have something much bigger and longer I could be twirling around you . . . in your face.”

The blood drained from my face and I looked away in an attempt to hide my disappointment and horror. What was I supposed to do? There were a million things I wanted to say but for some reason my brain and mouth were frozen in time. A horrifying image of what he was insinuating seared itself into my head. Instead of words forming in my throat, all that came out was an awkward dry cough/laugh and I robotically made an excuse of needing to go back to the makeup room to retrieve my hair spray.

For a week, I contemplated what to do, confiding in only two women: one a trusted assignment desk manager and the other, one of the longest-tenured technical behind-the-scenes engineers in the entire city. Both had told me numerous stories of working as the first female in their field in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. Can you imagine being called “little girl” day after day by your coworkers . . . even though you’re a nearly six-foot-tall woman? Or never being assigned to cover presidential visits or history-making stories because your boss thought females were too emotional while “on the rag” and “belonged in the kitchen, not on Air Force One”?

Both women were very different people but had their own ways of handling injustices in the workplace. One was able to compartmentalize and soldier through instead of letting it get the best of her, which motivated her to stand up for herself and everyone around her. The other would storm into her supervisor’s office and not be afraid of the retaliation that could possibly follow because she was so confident in who she was and had such a robust life outside of the workplace she didn’t need anybody to like her. (Between you, me, and the lamppost, I think her rumored seven-figure inheritance also probably gave her verbal courage.) As different as these women were, the one thing I admired about both of them, was how they gave zero f**ks.

But I was not ready to act in either of these manners. Compartmentalizing would drive me crazy and probably lead to a mental breakdown. And, I wasn’t about to storm into my manager’s office and tattle because my boss was always in a state of busy—and unlikely to listen to my problem.

Their varying viewpoints resulted in the realization that (A): There is no one-technique-solves-all kind of fix because every situation is different. There are so many factors—your relationship with the offender, how inappropriate the offense. And (B): You don’t have to make a beeline to your human resources, because often it’s not necessary and you can take matters into your own hands to start.

So, the next day after revealing my story to my female colleagues, Liam and I were discussing our bucket lists and I shared that on mine was to visit a kangaroo farm in Australia. Of course, he made a comment about how I’d fit right in as a “saucy Aussie in a bikini on Bondi.” (Honestly, how did he come up with this lame stuff?) I said in the same playful tone, “Liam, if you keep up this #MeToo business, a shark is going to attack you while snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef.” He seemed amused and impressed at my equally quick pun, while all getting my message loud and clear. He never made an uncomfortable comment ever again, and we’re still friends to this day.

I call the approach I used with Liam “tone matching.” The reason why this approach works is that I got Liam’s attention by matching his tone but coupling it with a message completely different than his own. Later on, I’ll talk about mirroring someone else’s body language and demeanor to get people to open up and talk to you. But tone matching isn’t so much physical as it is about volume, manner, content, and feel. Because Liam had an impish delivery of his lame one-liners, I matched the off-the-cuff, casual tone with a serious message. The result is attention-grabbing because of its unexpectedness. The matching of someone’s same tone also diffuses the situation just enough where the other person doesn’t become defensive or offended.

ESCALATION AND STRENGTH IN NUMBERS

Fortunately, Liam was the best possible example of dealing with someone who needed to be put in his place. He understood right away when I hinted his behavior wasn’t appropriate and didn’t let it affect our working relationship. But you won’t always be this lucky.

One of the events that really made an impact on how I wanted to use my voice in the workplace was hearing Dr. Christine Blasey Ford testify in real time what she alleged Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh did to sexually assault her at a high school party. Her vivid account of that summer day in 1982 gave me chills, and opened my eyes to what bravery it took for her to speak out. The media were ushered into a separate holding facility after Dr. Ford began receiving death threats. Her husband had to stay home with their children out of fear for their safety. Women from both sides of the aisle (although there were many, many more in support of her than skeptics) came from as far away as Europe to throw support behind the #IBelieveChristine movement. This was an historic moment in time, and I felt a surge of pride being among so many strong, vocal women who rallied behind one of their own.

This national news story reminded me of a situation when applying the Liam Strategy wasn’t enough. A relatively new coworker texted me in a panic, asking if I could meet her outside because of an incident she had with a male colleague. I dropped everything I was doing and rushed toward the exit. There, I found my usually strong, outspoken, unshakable (even in times of the most stressful breaking news) producer, Kenya, shaking. She told me in-between dry half-sobs that one of our male associates, Pablo, had accused her of sleeping her way to a promotion. She told me she witnessed him making off-color remarks to interns and gestures that referenced women with large breasts. But him accusing her of spreading her legs instead of putting in hard work and dedication to her job was disgusting and the last straw.

“Dion, I have to say something this time. This has to stop. But what am I supposed to do? Nobody’s going to believe me if I tell management. I’m just a producer . . . and I’m still kinda new.”

Right then and there I decided it was time for me to speak up, too. For months I had either heard directly or via secondhand of Pablo’s infantile exploits. He’d approach women from behind and give them a big bear hug and lift them up off the ground, or massage their shoulders. Another colleague had said she felt “gross” after he made a comment comparing the chests of two female anchors at competing stations and calling it the “Curvy Girl Olympiad.” (Honestly, this was just as bad as Liam’s lame nicknames.) It wasn’t as though I didn’t try to put an end to his sickening behavior, it’s just that he seemed impervious to any kind of hint or clue that his actions were making others feel uncomfortable. The Liam Strategy I had deployed with such success years earlier fell upon deaf ears. Pablo would defensively brush off my words of caution and then do it again a day later. So, right then and there, squished between someone’s minivan and hidden behind a prickly bush with my coworker who was on the brink of a panic attack, I decided to use my voice to give strength to hers.

To say we were nervous about approaching our boss about a long-tenured, very popular, decorated member of our workforce would be an understatement. We knew in order to be taken seriously, not pegged as complainers, or experience backlash for being “tattlers,” we had to be methodical in our approach. Here was our strategy to make a potentially uncomfortable experience safe and empowering.

   Find the Numbers: We knew, just as I had offered to share my experiences about Pablo, that if other women were to confirm our accusations, it would give us fortitude. Chances are, if you’ve experienced or witnessed unbecoming behavior that had no place in the workplace, others have too. But it’s not as though you can send an anonymous survey to your peers asking if they’ve experienced anything pervy with Danny the executive assistant. So, in the subsequent weeks, we spent some time testing the waters, dropping vague hints with other women at work who may have had icky encounters with Pablo. If the topic of, say, the Kardashians came up in conversation, I’d make a casual comment about how, “I hate it when people compare women’s butts to those sisters. It makes me feel like raw meat.” The comment would then prompt anyone else who felt the same way—because Pablo was the comparer—to reveal that fact. Finding a way to affirm you’re not the only one is the beginning of making change.

   Let Others Do the Heavy Lifting: Once we found a few women who also experienced this kind of treatment from Pablo, we didn’t ask them to speak out. We knew that if we did, word would ultimately get around the newsroom and we’d be pegged as the informants and be branded with scarlet letters for the rest of our working days. Instead, we knew in an HR investigation, our boss would ask who else may have experienced the same unsavory behavior. Since we had already found others, all we had to do was suggest some names and let the company take care of the rest.

   Stay on Topic: Pablo had other bad habits, like blowing his nose right before the backrubs, or turning in half-assed assignments at the very last minute. We wanted to talk about those issues as well, but we knew that if we were to veer off topic, our main message of getting him to stop his sexist ways would be diluted. Plus, bad hygiene wasn’t an HR violation and mentioning it just gives off the impression that we were complaining.

   Your Convictions Are Valid: Others will question or even flat-out discredit what you saw, heard, and or experienced. These voices can make you second-guess your convictions. They can even plant questions in your own mind of the turn of events. There were so many people who loved Pablo. Were Kenya and I overreacting? We combed through every single interaction to validate our feelings and came to the conclusion: absolutely not. With every iota of my being, I promise you—how you feel dictates the truth every time. Don’t let anybody ever take that away from you. Turns out, when you’re strong and steadfast in your feelings, others will realize it too. HR acted quickly to launch and complete their investigation and suspended Pablo for two weeks. Pablo never showed anyone a photo of former Playboy Playmates ever again.

STAND UP: FOR YOURSELF AND OTHERS . . . EVEN IF THEY’RE NOT THERE

Part of winning the fight on sexism when it feels like the cards are stacked against you is making the change happen not just for yourself but on behalf of other women in your workplace. A few months ago, my college roommate, Seema, sent me a text message. She explained she had done some attic cleaning and unearthed her journals from our Emerson days. Accompanying the text was a photo. The image was a shot of two lined journal pages. The loopy, semi-cursive handwriting read: “Dion is so dense. She only cares about herself and didn’t stand up for me when Cecilly called me a slut.”

I burst into a nonstop five-minute fit of laughter. Seema and I had done some crazy things in college (including dumpster diving for leftover pizzas) and have since morphed into somewhat responsible adult friends who put our underdeveloped-college-brain years behind us.

Reading those two lines reminded me why it was so important to stand up for others, even when they’re not present. Or, as I discovered later on in my career, defending others and going to bat for them are necessary to have a harmonious workplace. Because in my book (no pun intended) if you witness something unscrupulous and don’t do anything, you’re nearly as bad as the offender.

Standing Up for Someone Else Is Standing Up for Everyone, Including Yourself

It was the story of the month: the massive Kilauea volcanic eruption in Hawaii. Much of my newsroom was mesmerized by the bright orange lava flows invading the Leilani Estates on the big island, and openly wondered where residents had fled to, or when the bubbling magma would cease. Some of my colleagues, however, were more interested in commenting on the woman reporting the story.

For nearly three weeks, my friend Drea was on the front lines as twisting, furious fire-hot lava swirled only a few hundred feet away. Based in Los Angeles, Drea was a network correspondent who sometimes traveled more weeks out of the month than she was at home. She was a versatile reporter who could find herself camped outside a “house of horrors,” where children were being chained up in the basement one week, and then behind the scenes on a Cirque du Soleil trapeze the next. During her assignment in Hawaii, we saw her every afternoon and evening, clad in shorts, T-shirt, and ball cap doing hits for the network news and any affiliates around the country who wanted a live reporter in their show.

For 18 days, while Drea covered the lava creep, I heard the same comments from my colleagues. These were not the comments of “Nice job,” or “What a trooper, look at how close she is to the lava.” Instead, the comments were about her appearance.

“Tell Drea to eat a sandwich. No, a cheeseburger, and make it a double!”

“Drea’s going to get sucked up by that lava—she’s so skinny!”

“Since when does Skeletor report the news?”

By Day 8, I couldn’t stay silent anymore. (In hindsight, I should have interjected by Day 1.) Turning to my heavyset male colleague, I blurted, “Hey. What if someone commented on your own daughter’s or your wife’s weight?”

Undeterred, he said nonchalantly, “Well, nobody’s commenting on her weight. I’m commenting on Drea.”

Sigh. Deaf ears. Didn’t anybody else find the irony in the fact that this commenter was significantly overweight?

As frustrating as this was, I felt confident that I had made my point and at least everyone who was nearby knew my stance on commenting on women’s bodies.

The very next day, a different coworker, this time a woman, made a similar comment as soon as Drea appeared on the screen. Instead of commenting on her stellar reporting, her hard work, or her stamina, this particular offender said, “She probably has an eating disorder.”

I had it. Now a woman was body shaming another female, setting the example to everyone in the room that this was allowable in our workplace. When no one interjects to say these types of remarks are not okay, these comments become tolerable and the norm. This is how company cultures are shaped—as long as you have a voice, your moral responsibility is to use it. Breaking from my usually composed exterior, I blurted out, “Did we forget she’s an amazing reporter?”

My coworkers looked slightly taken aback by my outburst. No one made a peep. (Though one woman rolled her eyes and started furiously typing away, probably to instant message the person next to her to call me a “bitch.”) That was that, and we went about our day.

While it may not have seemed this way on the outside, the best thing to come out of that exchange was the silence. This is because the silence wasn’t replaced by any more mentions of Drea’s or anybody’s body from there on out. Even though I could have, I purposely chose not to mention that Drea ate like a sumo wrestler, because addressing her eating habits just shone more attention on her body size instead of her skills and hard work. My reputation remained intact, and as a bonus, defending someone who wasn’t even in the room showed others who were bothered by the comments that they had an ally. Sometimes your greatest strength is giving a voice to others who have their own but just aren’t there to use it.

TO HR OR NOT TO HR. NOT ONLY IS THAT THE QUESTION . . . BUT HOW DO YOU HR?

My first on-air job was during my senior year of college at a tiny television station in Springfield, Massachusetts, in the western part of the state. Thanks to some strategic class scheduling, I was able to complete my final semester at Emerson by lumping my classes into two days, so I could do the 180-mile roundtrip from Boston to Springfield four days a week to work as a reporter. Being 21 years old, I was young and hungry and ready to do just about anything in television news for my barely-over-minimum-wage contract. (Let’s just say I made more money as a cashier working overtime at the local grocery store at age 16.)

If a rookie reporter is nicknamed a cub, I was a fetus. My eyes weren’t even open to the working world and my lack of experience showed from the rambling, nearly incoherent news stories I cobbled together to the actions I took in the workplace when dealing with others and handling conflict. This was most evident by my penchant for going to HR for reasons that should have been handled by my manager or on my own: An annoying coworker who would inadvertently whistle all day long because of a gap in her front teeth. Wanting to know when I’d get a promotion. (Uhm, I had only been there a piddly six months. Who did I think I was?) Heck. If a peanut butter and jelly sandwich had grape jelly instead of strawberry preserves, I’d probably make a beeline to human resources to have the issue fixed.

Clearly these are not reasons to go running to human resources.

HR’s purpose is to protect the company. To act in the best interest of the employer. To make sure labor laws are met and that benefits (and consequences) are doled out appropriately. What I was doing was using HR as my sounding board, punching bag, and occasional therapist. I was a human and to me this was the resource they should be providing. That train of thought got me in a lot of hot water. By aimlessly discussing the gripes I had with my boss combined with issues that served no purpose for the greater good, I was seen as a problem child. But there are times when HR can be your ally, and this is especially true in the #MeToo era. So, when is it appropriate to get human resources involved?

   Baby Steps Up the HR Ladder: Think of dealing with uncomfortable situations like climbing a ladder. Human resources is at the very top. Can you solve the issue on the lowest rung without getting anybody involved? If not, do you have a manager or someone whom you can bounce the subject off of to get input? That superior may end up taking the issue to HR on your behalf. If you feel like you’re not getting any answers, then maybe it is time to pay that man or woman in the office upstairs a visit.

   Phrase It So You Are Not the Problem: The job of human resources is to keep the company running smoothly and prevent any legal woes against the top manage-
ment and senior employees. The last thing HR wants to hear is you complaining about someone without a valid reason to. Over-complainers are miserable people, which sends a message that you’re despondent. Your sentences shouldn’t start with an “I” because “I want” or “I can’t stand” is a reflection on you, not how the issue is affecting the company as a whole. Instead, center the complaint about a person and how he or she affects your workflow and contributions to the company.

   Just the Facts: The idea of talking to HR can be intimidating. Here’s someone (or sometimes two people) staring at you as you’re reliving traumatic events, taking notes and possibly recording your every word. Convey just the facts and what is necessary for your team to build their case. You want your side to be heard loud and clear, and not get bogged down with other unnecessary extras.

WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME? (MY NAME IS DION, AND ONLY DION)

Years ago, I worked with a meteorologist who perpetually called the women he worked with (including me) “Hon.” Jason was born and raised in the Midwest (and still wore cowboy boots) and called women “Ma’am,” men “Sir,” and the females he was close to “Hon” or “Babe.” However, just because he was from the Midwest, didn’t make it okay. This was work. Sure, to Jason this was a term of endearment, as we were all good friends. But I’m not his mom, sister, or girlfriend. At work, we were equal.

Indra Nooyi, the CEO of Pepsi, condemned the use of these kinds of pet names in the workplace, saying it’s all about dignity. She spoke at a Women in the World Summit and addressed the crowd: “We’ve got to be treated as executives of people rather than ‘Honey,’ ‘Sweetie,’ or ‘Babe.’ That has to change.”

That quote resonated with me, because she was right. Why should women be called nicknames that are meant to describe babies, Goldendoodle puppies, and girlfriends? Would you ever call your male counterpart, “Sexy,” “Hottie,” or “Boy” during a com-
panywide meeting?

For almost two years, I let this go on. Jason had good intentions. We were friends! But the last straw broke when I was speaking to a group of college students visiting the station. Here I was, talking about my journey in TV news, moving from city to city every year and being a strong minority role model to these young adults, yet I was being called a pet name as if I were a subordinate, not a hard-working woman who made just about the same salary as this man with 10 more years’ experience.

In a joking way, I sassed back, “C’mon Rockstar, none of that. You can’t call me ‘Hon’ at work!” He held up his hands in mock protest and said, “Yes, ma’am! 10-4” and we were good. Just like that. Until a fellow female in the newsroom, Charity, chimed in, “But I like it when he calls me ‘Hon’!” In an instant, it was all undone. Out the window. K’boshed. Kaput. One step forward, two steps back. Her affirmation that she enjoyed being called “Hon” just undid the progress I had made on behalf of all the women at the station.

Because we had mutual respect for each other, Jason followed my wishes and from that point on, I was “D” or “Dion.” It didn’t affect our working relationship or our personal relationship one iota. The same couldn’t be said for anyone else (including Charity), as everyone, including our assistant news director, was on the receiving end of a few of his “Hons,” but I’m nonetheless proud of standing my ground—albeit late. At least I had the gumption, the chutzpah, and courage to take a step at all.

   Set Precedent: If you let someone call you “Babe” for two years, you’ve already set the precedent that it’s okay because you haven’t done anything about it. What the Jason experience taught me was to shut down future pet names sooner than later. When an older, male assignment desk manager called me “Girl,” I cleared my throat and said loudly for the entire newsroom to hear, “I am a woman, Brian. A woman!” He apologized shortly after and never called me “Girl” again.

   Constant Reminders: It’ll take a while to break someone completely of a longtime bad habit. Brian may have tossed “Girl” out the window, but other pet names would pop out unexpectedly (and I really do believe unintentionally). Since I had already shut him down once, all it took was a gentle reminder why an inappropriate epitaph wasn’t acceptable at work for him to stop. The last time he did it, all it required was for me to give him “the look” and from then on, my name was only Dion.

Sexual harassment may be ubiquitous in the workplace, but by learning how to deal with it in a professional and considered manner, you can make huge strides toward changing that for yourself and for other women. The next time you or a colleague are on the receiving end of an inappropriate comment, remember that you have power—you just need to use it in a considered way to achieve your ultimate goal of being treated with respect, as a valued member of your company.