They want your experiences. So.. if you are up to it tell them what happened to you.
Here’s the first of , sadly, we presume, many articles to come
Author Staci Zaretsky writes
Do you have a law school or law firm story you’d like to see appear in The Pink Ghetto? Email me (subject line: “The Pink Ghetto”) or find me on Twitter, @StaciZaretsky. You will be kept anonymous. Submissions are always welcome.
Welcome back to The Pink Ghetto, a series where we take a look at some of the most appalling stories from one of the most sexist industries in the world: the legal profession. Countless tales of sexual harassment have emerged in the days and weeks since the Harvey Weinstein scandal was brought to light, and as women in this industry know all too well, a law degree will not insulate you from sexual harassment. Today, we’ll take a look at a story from a woman who faced intense sexual harassment during law school at the hands of a well-known Biglaw partner. These are always real emails that we’ve received from real readers.
When you see things like this happening, say something. Together, we can inspire the change necessary to stop this disturbing behavior from being so prevalent in the law. We owe it to ourselves and to future generations of women in the law.
While I was in law school in Los Angeles, I met a partner of a prominent law firm on a visit to Sonoma County, whom we will call “A.” A said he was based in the Bay Area, but frequently came to Los Angeles to visit clients. Sure enough, A soon invited me to come out to one of his client’s events, a tech company’s launch event at the Viceroy Hotel in Santa Monica. As I was job-hunting that summer, I was excited at the networking opportunity with this big time attorney, who had clearly been practicing for many years. He also mentioned we could grab dinner following the event if I was free because he was staying at the hotel. Since we had discussed my background in entertainment and my interest in IP law, I thought he was genuinely interested in potentially lending a hand to my career.
When I arrived to the Viceroy, A met me at the door. He noticed my large purse and said, “Oh, do you want to put your bag in my room?” I thought that seemed odd, but I hoped it was nothing and replied, “That’s okay, thanks.” Can you say RED FLAG?! The actual event was uneventful. I remember hoping people knew I was there in a professional capacity, because A kept introducing me as “his friend Amanda,” a “future hotshot attorney.” (While I am not sure of his exact age, he graduated law school in 1991… when I was THREE. Suffice it to say, he was significantly older than I was.) As the event wrapped up, A suggested going to dinner at Capo across the street. I felt it would be rude to decline the offer. And after all, this would be my chance to discuss his firm and really sell him on my capabilities as an attorney…. or so I thought.
During dinner, A proceeded to ask me deeply personal questions. He told me about his divorce and how much he hated his ex-wife. The conversation soon veered into romantic and sexual territory. A asked me if I found him attractive and if I had any fetishes in bed. I felt extremely uncomfortable. He then proceeded to FEED me some of his pasta, which was beyond awkward. Over the course of the dinner, I kept declining more wine, and reminding him I had to drive home. At one point, he stood up from the table, walked over to me, and kissed me. In front of the ENTIRE restaurant. At this point, I was mortified and I felt frozen. I kept thinking, just get through the dinner. I briefly thought about leaving while he was in the bathroom, and I should have. The concierge came over to check on me, but I didn’t say anything because I could tell this attorney was a highly respected client of the restaurant. The worst part is, even though I was so disgusted, I remember thinking I still didn’t want to offend him. Toward the end of the dinner, A kept bringing up how much he loved poetry. He suggested I come back to his hotel room so he could read me some of his favorites. Or we could even “sit by the pool.” All I kept thinking was how I wish I hadn’t parked at the hotel. Unfortunately, I had left my car with the hotel valet so I had to walk back with him.
We started walking back to the hotel. A took my hand and suddenly suggested we go for a walk on the beach. He put his arm around me and kept gently steering me toward a very dark, isolated alley which led down to the beach. I took a few steps, but kept saying, “you know, I really need to be going” to no avail. A then grabbed me and kissed me again, except this time it was much more aggressive. He started groping my ass and attempted to put his hands up my dress. I removed them and said something like, “Sorry, this isn’t happening.” I kept trying to politely say “No.” I must have said “no” a hundred times. I remember him laughing at me and saying, “Oh, you’re so cute. I like that, how you say no, no, no.” Like it was nothing. Anyway, at that point, we finally walked back to the hotel. He was visibly irritated with me, but let me leave in peace.
Afterward, I kept asking myself, “Did I so something to make him think I was interested in more than a professional relationship?” The answer is NO. This was not my fault. While this experience certainly did a number on me, I am well aware of how lucky I am. Lucky, because this is the “worst” account of sexual abuse I have personally experienced. Lucky, because who knows what would have happened if I had ended up in his hotel room.
