I think a lot about complaints. I think about what gives rise to complaints, how easy it is to complain about some things, while it can feel impossible to name what hurts us most. I think about who hears complaints and what they do with them. And I think often about processes for addressing complaints.
It’s my job to think about these things. Before becoming the director of sexual ethics for the General Commission on the Status and Role of Women (GCSRW), I was the Title IX Coordinator for a public PK–12 school system, where I facilitated the district’s response to reports of harassment and discrimination. For years, I’ve been hearing a lot of complaints.
That’s why I use the word so capaciously, which is also to take it literally. People might think of “complaint” as a bad thing, as “just complaining,” but to complain is to express pain or dissatisfaction, to name that something is not right. Setting aside gripes about minor inconveniences, most of the time, the real nuisance isn’t the complaint itself (though that's simpler to dismiss when we think someone’s “just complaining”) but the harm that made it necessary to complain in the first place, which takes intentionality and care to address.
This past week, I’ve been listening to survivors of the sexual abuse and exploitation orchestrated by Jeffrey Epstein and his associates share some of their stories publicly. These are harrowing accounts of unspeakable harm. It is easy to feel outrage and heartache at these complaints.
I find myself thinking, too, of those who aren’t sure if anyone will listen to them, or who try to speak up and are met with apathy, defensiveness, excuses, or blame.
I can tell you this: there are a lot of decent, caring people who would never commit the atrocities of Epstein, but who would and do hear a complaint of harm and say things like, “Are you sure that’s what they meant? Is it possible you misinterpreted?” Or, “Did you do anything to make them think you were okay with it?” Or, “I just can’t imagine them doing something like that.” Or, “I’ll have to hear their side of the story.” Or, “But everyone loves them. Their future is so bright.” Or, “It sounds like you’re going to have to toughen up.”
In my most generous moments, I think a lot of people just don’t know what to do or say when they hear really hard things. It’s difficult to believe that humans can treat others in the ways we do, and so, we have an impulse sometimes to try to explain away unsavory acts, as if finding a plausible justification will enable us to maintain our faith in humanity.
But not believing something doesn’t make it any less true.
Also, consider that most of the time, for most of us, it’s probably not our job to assess what’s true. Unless we're on a jury, the decision-maker for a formal complaint, or have some authority to discipline and punish perpetrators, we don’t actually need to know “what really happened” when someone shares something with us about harm they have experienced. Because there’s one thing you can be certain of that really did happen, which is that someone came to you hurt, vulnerable, and needing support.
What matters most is to meet people where they are and exhibit the antidote to the worst of human behavior—the capacity to love.
You might find yourself questioning, “But what if the other person didn’t really do it?” To that, I say: it doesn’t matter what you think. No fact-finding mission is necessary to recognize there is someone before you who needs you to care, not about the details but about them.
So, ask, “What do you need?” This is more important than any question about what happened.
I’m so glad you told me. What do you need? What does support look like for you right now?
This also goes for those of us who, in our official roles, might receive a formal complaint. It is not a sign of bias to ask someone what they need. Ask the question not only because it’s the compassionate response but because it might actually make us better at our jobs. We might learn that what we’re about to do, maybe even what we’ve been trained to do, isn’t, in fact, what the person wants or needs.
It is very rare that I talk to someone who already knows what it means procedurally to make a complaint. Expressions of complaint aren’t usually requests to fire up bureaucratic machinery. They’re a way of saying, “Something happened, and I need someone to care.”
In almost every complaint I have ever received, survivors have two primary motivations: to stop the harm and to ensure it does not happen again, with concern not only for themselves but for others as well.
Please read that again.
The most important part of accountability isn’t usually punishment. People aren’t often motivated by seeing someone “get in trouble” (though that may be a reasonable response). The most important part of accountability is taking responsibility. And that includes all of us.
How do we take responsibility to support one another? How do we strive to make things right when harm occurs? How do we help each other act and live in ways that enable individual and collective well-being?
Whenever I hear a complaint, I try to remind myself that, whatever the details, something is not okay. Then, we can ask, “What will it take to make things okay, to make things right?”
That’s an open-ended question. It might lead to identifying help that an individual needs. It might lead to formal processes aimed at accountability. It might lead to a genuine apology and efforts to repair harm. It might lead to calls for legislative action and social change.
Our answers are always going to vary because people’s needs are varied. But invariably, whatever follows from a complaint should be rooted first and foremost in care.
Resources and Support
If you have experienced sexual harm and would like help thinking through your options, including possibly making a complaint, you can call GCSRW for confidential support at 800-523-8390.
If you are someone who is responsible for receiving and/or processing complaints in the United Methodist Church and want to learn more about trauma-informed responses, you can call the same number for consultation. Also, check out the book Complaint! by Sara Ahmed.