An increasing number of companies are implementing drinking quotas at holiday parties to curb sexual abuse. This approach is wrong — and dangerous.

Pixabay/Michael Discenza

By Erin Gee, Erica Ifill, and Bailey Reid

The holiday season is upon us, and with that comes the time-honored tradition of drinking enough on the company dime that your colleagues begin to seem remotely interesting. But in the wake of the #MeToo movement, human resources departments — not wanting to join the deluge of companies firing people for allegations of sexual violence — are reconsidering their policies around drinking. As such, the 2017 holiday party circuit might seem different this year — a little more formal, slightly stuffier, and probably a lot drier (in both conversations and libations).

A HuffPost story recently detailed Vox Media’s revamped holiday-party policy. In lieu of the typical open bar, this year the company will be offering drink coupons, two per person, followed by unlimited non-alcoholic beverages. The decision was made in order to curb any “unprofessional behavior” that could take place at the party, on the grounds that— per an email sent to staffers from management — “creating an environment that encourages overconsumption certainly contributes to” such behavior.

Vox has not explicitly stated that its new policy is related to sexual abuse — perhaps because they recognize using such language could incite backlash, and they want to avoid any liability if something does happen — but it’s hard not to discern a connection between the two. The vague phrase “unprofessional behavior” has become a euphemism for a spectrum of behaviors that don’t belong in the workplace, from racist, transphobic, and homophobic comments, to sexual harassment and assault. Further, the decision comes on the heels of Vox firing its editorial director for sexual harassment — an incident it initially handled by telling the accused that he could “not drink at corporate events any longer.”

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In this, Vox is not alone; many media outlets are reporting on companies curbing alcohol consumption this year, likely in direct response to fear over sexual harassment incidents. Challenger, Gray & Christmas’ annual survey on holiday parties found that for 2017, only 48.7% of the 150 human resource representatives from across the U.S. would be serving alcohol at their company’s party, down from the 61.9% in 2016. Similarly, 11% (up from 4% in 2016) of respondents said that their company would not be hosting a holiday party this year, despite previously hosting one.

Andrew Challenger, vice president of Challenger, Gray & Christmas, told MarketWatch:

“There’s no economic reason right now that we see these holiday parties being scaled back, and that’s why we think it could be an anomaly caused by the Weinstein effect.”

Limiting alcohol consumption to protect against sexual abuse might seem reasonable and well-intentioned. In reality, it contributes to the rape culture that puts so many people at risk of assault in the first place.

As we’ve seen over the last several weeks, men do not need to be under the influence of alcohol to sexually assault someone. They do not need several cocktails to whip out their dicks and masturbate. Shots of liquid courage are unnecessary for men to forcibly kiss, grab, or grope women. The only thing that men are drunk on when it comes to assaulting women is power. (Power is also, it’s worth pointing out, behind the rarer cases of women sexually abusing men.)

The suggestion that alcohol makes men commit assault is an actively dangerous one, undermining how inequitable power distribution inspires the inappropriate and dangerous behavior of men. And there’s another issue, too: Alcohol-limiting policies suggest that women who are sexually abused in a situation where there’s been heavy drinking are responsible for their own assault.

Particularly when sexual assault allegations make it to court, the defense often seeks to discredit the victim by bringing up her alcohol consumption on the night of the alleged incident. We saw this happen in both the Brock Turner trial and the Vanderbilt football trial, among many others. It’s a rape myth as old as time — so old, it’s nearly biblical. As the lie goes, when women drink, they become slutty temptresses; when they wake up, they regret their fall from our societal notions of “purity” and instead of taking responsibility for their actions, they blame men. In Halifax, Canada, a judge took only 20 minutes to acquit a cab driver of sexual assault, stating, “Clearly, a drunk can consent.” In the Vanderbilt football incident, one of the prosecuting lawyers said, “[College is] a culture that encourage[s] sexual promiscuity but not, not just alone, it was also a culture of alcohol, and alcohol consumption.”

This is victim-blaming at its most blatant.

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When it comes to prevention of sexual assault, rather than telling men not to rape, we caution women about their own behavior. We tell women to watch their drinks at the bar, lest they be drugged. We warn them about being around men who are too drunk, and tell them not to dance too close or smile too long. If they accept a drink from a man and are later assaulted, they’re a drunk slut who was asking for it (and if they don’t go home with the man at all? They’re a bitch for not exchanging their time for a $10.50 investment).

One thing remains constant: the underlying narrative that women are responsible for not getting sexually assaulted, and one strategy to keep themselves out of harm’s way is to cut down their consumption of alcohol. In limiting the amount of alcohol that a female employee can consume at their holiday party, Vox Media (and all companies following that same lead) are essentially saying that women need to have someone paternalizing them, so that they don’t overindulge and make poor choices that they may later regret.

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As well, such policies put women at a disadvantage when it comes to climbing the career ladder, while further cementing the protocol of the Old Boys Club. If, as these policies suggest, a man is likely just one martini away from a harassment suit, there might be cause to exclude women from events with drinks altogether. And while neither women nor men should feel social pressure to drink more than they want to, the fact is that at many workplaces, important business discussions take place over drinks, often after hours. If women are shut out of these gatherings (which they often are for other reasons as well, including childcare burdens), they may find it that much harder to ascend the ranks.

Underlying all this is a dangerous message: women are weak, unable to handle their liquor and vulnerable to putting themselves in harm’s way. Such reasoning further solidifies misogynistic notions that women can’t hack it in the workplace.

Lowering alcohol consumption to prevent sexual assault is no more than a bandaid placed over a gaping wound. In order to truly reduce workplace sexual harassment and assault, more significant systemic change is in order.

“This cultural change will be difficult because it will require tackling long-standing behaviors that have been tolerated for years,” says Stefanie Lomatski, coordinator of the Sexual Assault Network (SAN) in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. To create true change, Lomatski says that companies need to develop sexual harassment policies that are survivor-centric, by treating them with respect and not discriminating or passing judgment on them, and by recognizing that privacy and confidentiality must be paramount. And then these policies must be clearly communicated to employees, emphasizing that they are important to consider during company events as well. In addition to these policies, educating staff on what constitutes sexual violence delivers a clear message about what is, and is not, appropriate behavior. Training like this is easily accessible, including at many local sexual assault centers.

Lowering alcohol consumption to prevent sexual assault is no more than a bandaid placed over a gaping wound.

SAN is one organization doing important work on this front; its “Project SoundCheck” trains people to intervene when they see potential sexual harassment or violence happening. Often, they’re discussing this within the context of music festivals, where alcohol and drugs are a significant factor — but in their training, sexual violence is never excused by drinking. Rather, creating safer spaces is the focus. Usually, the formula looks something like, “This is problematic behavior, whereas this is what a caring community looks like,” says Lomatski. Essentially, social change models are much more effective in preventing sexual violence than simply telling people how to behave for one event, once a year.

Yes, workplace sexual violence policies “with teeth” will educate employees about what management expects from them, but to really dictate an organization’s culture, work events held outside the workplace, particularly outside working hours, need to include as many reminders as possible about appropriate behavior. This doesn’t need to be complex; posting workplace policies in conspicuous areas and having regular check-ins about harassment and violence go a long way. Finally, when it comes to spaces where colleagues are partying together, it’s important to have (sober) individuals at the event to serve as a support for those who feel unsafe, and who people can approach if something happens to them.

Social change models are much more effective in preventing sexual violence than simply telling people how to behave for one event, once a year.

There are plenty of very legitimate reasons to change the culture of drinking at work events. Namely, it excludes groups of people who choose not to drink for health reasons, religious reasons, because they’re in recovery, or simply because they don’t like getting wasted with a bunch of people they’re already forced to spend upwards of 35 hours a week with. And just as there are sensible reasons to change drinking culture in the workplace, there are more sensible solutions to curbing workplace sexual harassment and assault than providing warnings to staff that are based on rape mythology and victim-blaming. It starts with changing the organization’s cultural attitude toward women (and those who identify as women or non-binary) by not only giving them a seat at the table, but by ensuring their decision-making roles are formal, respected, and viewed as critical to the bottom line. When women are viewed as decision-makers, with autonomy and power in a workplace, they are seen that way sexually as well. We have the agency to make our own decisions about how much we can drink, we have the agency to decide how and by whom we’ll be touched, and we have the agency to speak up when we are sexually harassed.

And no, we will not be held accountable for your actions — no matter how much we’ve had to drink.

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]]> https://theestablishment.co/what-i-learned-when-i-gave-up-booze-for-a-year-238f15db9425/ Mon, 12 Sep 2016 15:25:30 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=7158 Read more]]> I saw intentional sobriety as a choice that carried the potential to completely reshape my life.

A little over a year ago, I quit drinking.

No, there was no dramatic, booze-fused meltdown. I didn’t slam 17 shots of Sauza and wake up three days later pantsless beside a burning cop car. No Hangover of the Century, unbearable bout of public humiliation, or walk of shame so immense that the only way forward was to peg events to the prior night’s array of beverages. Really, there was no “problem” to begin with at all. Like most thirtysomethings functioning within the modern western world, alcohol served its multifaceted purpose, with no perceived adverse side effects (other than the occasional meh one-night-stand or massive, 24-hour headache).

A frothy glass of Yes Please was both a reward and a fast track toward some well-deserved R&R. The means of celebrating as much as commiserating. A vehicle for cheersing as much as quelling complaints. A chilled glass of vino proved an ideal method for both “leaning in” or tapping out, the chic gin and tonic served to both get “with it” as much as “get over it.” I could enjoy a no-frills glass of single malt, sans shame, at nearly any point during my productive, fully operational day.

In short, I used the sauce like pretty much everyone else. Efficient, law-abiding, compassionate citizens just gunning it through another day of the grind. NBD. Needless to say, my seemingly sudden decision to roll off the boozy bandwagon caught folks by surprise — and sparked the full spectrum of reactions, spanning from disappointment to disgust.

I used the sauce like pretty much everyone else. Efficient, law-abiding, compassionate citizens just gunning it through another day of the grind. NBD.
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I remember the specific moment at which the concept of “sobriety” surfaced in my brain for the first time. After quite the love-life hiatus, I was on a date. We’d already done the “grab a casual drink to chat,” as well as navigated a couple of candlelit dinners. We’d already slept together, but on this particular night, it seemed like we were still struggling to determine if we even liked each other. Together, at a nearby bar, we were sipping cocktails and feigning chemistry.

Somewhere between drinks three and who-cares, through a fantastic haze of intoxication and indifference, I was confronted with a fairly uncomfortable truth: that my reasons for drinking, and the results thereof, had little if nothing in common.

In other words, the main reasons I snagged any barstool in the first place generally centered around improving social interactions. Yet the integration of alcohol with these meet-ups rarely served any connection-cementing function other than, perhaps, soothing some ever-present anxiety.

That night, I watched my date’s mouth move, knowing I’d remember nothing the next morning. I peppered our conversation with the necessary visual cues of any “engaged listener,” yet felt myself floating further and further away — riding my own all-numbing buzz within the privacy of my own mind. Operation “This Must Be Intimacy,” party for one.

Within the week, we stopped dating. And, fueled mainly by sheer curiosity, I stopped drinking. For the first week or so, I lied whenever anyone made a point of it. “I was coming down with something.” “I had a headache.” “My throat was sort of sore.” Before the not-so-subtle eye-rolls of barkeeps everywhere, I ordered soda water and lime with a shrug and an apologetic smile.

As I grew more comfortable with the change from imbibing to abstaining, I stopped making excuses about it, and simply stated that I was “taking a break.” From there, the questions generally continued. Occasionally via wholly indifferent tones, other times from a panic-stricken grimace and shrill “Wait, but WHY?!”.

The truth was, I didn’t initially know why. It seemed a worthwhile experiment at the very least. Concerning something as socially acceptable and culturally ingrained as alcohol, why had it taken me over a decade to even consider its purpose in my life?

I saw intentional sobriety as something that could pan out as a mere pain in the ass for a period of time, or a choice that carried the potential to completely reshape my life. And while I’ve since returned to a lifestyle in full support of the occasional Vesper or lime-adorned pilsner, the lessons that sprung from a year off the sauce have stayed with me.

Likely the most obvious change when you opt to dry the fuck out: your body takes note. Immediate alterations during my daily-what-have-yous included slimming down within a matter of days, sleeping like a baby still suspended in some blissful bubble of amniotic fluid, and greeting each morning with the “rise and shine” grit of a goddamn superhero. Granted, the results of cutting 1900 empty calories out of your diet should come as no surprise. That said, I would never have foreseen the childlike delight that started to accompany my nightly swan-dives into my covers. Gone were those necessary midnight bathroom breaks, or the 4 AM sugar crashes. Best yet, the raging-headache-to-mild-head-fuzz Spectrum of Hangover completely evaporated. The space between my alarm sounding and “Day Seized” seemed a more manageable — and dare I say enjoyable — gap.

I saw intentional sobriety as something that could pan out as a mere pain in the ass for a period of time, or a choice that carried the potential to completely reshape my life.
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Perhaps the second wave of surprises included a skyrocketing amount of personal productivity. No, I’m not saying that sobriety is the first step toward mastering your life and then TAKING OVER THE WORLD. In fact, most Type-A overachievers could probably stand to mellow out over the occasional Manhattan. But, from a measly freelancer’s point of view, wherein daily “adulting” tasks span taking on new clients, managing deadlines, paying taxes, watering some 73 houseplants, and catching up with friends over coffee . . . Well, finding a new mental niche that exists between “I’m kinda drunk” and “I’m kinda hungover” tends to lengthen the day — and in the best way possible.

Also shockingly more manageable: those wayward bursts of creativity. Otherwise known to writers, painters, and other creators alike, as the “Oh my god I have this sudden idea out of nowhere and I need to get started on it RIGHT NOW” wave of mania. While this series of synapses firing tends to forge some mental “path never yet traveled,” sobriety at the very least served to better illuminate it. My theory behind this phenomenon is just that — a theory. But if any burning desire to create is generally sparked by emotions — rage and ecstasy, hope and despair, grief and gratitude — and alcohol serves to subtly (and brilliantly) numb out the more extreme of experiences, then perhaps skipping the booze cements some kind of fast-track from ideation to initiation.

At any rate, the absorb-exude, take-in-inspiration-punch-out-product pattern behind all projects, crafts, essays, and tasks resumed a more adaptable ebb and flow. Having an idea, holding that idea, and harnessing that idea into some presentable, public-facing piece was a less dramatic ordeal all around.

In addition to acting as the impetus for any artistic endeavors, “feeling the feelings” can serve a wide range of real-world purposes as well — i.e., determining who the hell you are and what the hell you’re actually doing. Or perhaps more importantly, especially concerning women within today’s society, pinpointing who the hell you are NOT, and what you don’t want to be doing (or simply aren’t allowed to do).

Pre-sobriety, I had inaccurately assumed I was “just a laid-back kinda gal.” Down for anything. Happily along for any ride. It’s not that I was some void of a being sans personality or preferences, it’s just that certain abilities like facing conflict, addressing trauma, formulating an actual opinion and — stay with me here — unapologetically voicing it, were completely beyond me.

In other words, sobriety caused several so-deep-they-were-assumed-nonexistent desires to begin surfacing. And while bigger picture, more overarching directional shifts did occur, the base-level decision-making skills that started sprouting were just as shocking.

No, I didn’t want to go to that party and pretend I was enjoying myself. Yes, I was totally comfortable tucking into bed by 9 PM. No, that time that person did that one thing? That wasn’t okay with me. Yes, my feelings were actually hurt. No, I’m not calm, cool, or collected. Yes, anxiety is real, and if left unacknowledged, a quickly escalating force to be reckoned with. No I didn’t want to date that guy. I didn’t want to make out with him either. Yes, I wanted to work with that new client. And yes, I wanted to charge twice my going rate. No I didn’t think that joke was appropriate. Yes, I felt okay saying so. No I didn’t want a beer. Yes, I’d love another soda water — extra lime.

Sobriety caused several so-deep-they-were-assumed-nonexistent desires to begin surfacing.
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With this evolving, strengthening assortment of opinions came a certain clarity around other aspects of my psyche. Unbeknownst triggers, nonsensical relational patterns, ever-present stressors — the whole hot mess started falling out of the woodwork. Granted, I’m not writing this from some enlightened state of nirvana; my shit still stinks. But easing off the sauce for an extended period of time served to at the very least help me recognize that fact. Not to mention highlighted a few necessary footholds out of (or down into) the murky depths of my consciousness.

Yes, a hangover-free existence was convenient. But the wave of intentionality that rippled from the decision to sober up essentially pulled back the curtain of denial and moderate victimhood I had been operating behind. Gradually (and painfully), my existence seemed less a haphazard stream of events wherein “things just happened” and it was up to me to “make it work” or “keep it together” and more a deliberate and conscious means of owning my actual participation within my own life. I wasn’t some helpless pawn, afflicted by rules I had no access to. I was a daily player in a game I just hadn’t wanted to take responsibility for.

Some 13 or 14 months later, I lay stretched on the beaches of Vietnam sandwiched by my closest friends. When we were offered a tropical, rum-based cocktail for the “happy hour” price of a dollar, I sat up, sunburned and sweating. Does it come in a coconut shell? Does it have an umbrella garnish? Will it perfectly — and intentionally — compliment this sandy, salty day? I mulled it over, and grinned, “Yes. I’d love one.”