#UsToo

Silence. We don’t really associate silence with music. But it wouldn’t be music without the silence, the space between the notes, the drama, the tension, the anticipation. We need the silence placed just so by composers and performers to make music music.

Except for one particular kind of silence that’s been going on in and around music, I can only assume, since the dawn of patriarchy and misogyny. The silence of women who have been sexually assaulted by teachers, colleagues, conductors. A couple of weeks ago, a bombshell article blew the soundproof doors off the culture of silence in the classical music world. And then another and another. Read this for starters. The New York Philharmonic, the very top of the top orchestras on the planet, is dealing with the rape of a female horn player by two of her male peers. This happened in 2010 and it has taken until now for any action to occur. For the story to entirely emerge. For them to “deal with it.” If you are a New York Times subscriber, search “Philharmonic Sidelines 2 Players It Tried To Fire For Misconduct.”

Misconduct is what they’re calling it. Does it seem particularly egregious that this “misconduct” is happening in a top orchestra? Yet - I don’t know of one woman at any level in this field - performers, teachers, students - I do not know of one woman who doesn’t have a story.

• the university oboe teacher who began each weekly lesson by assaulting his student “Andrea” in the back closet of his studio and then expected her to play through scales, etudes, orchestral excerpts and repertoire as if nothing had happened.

• the violin teacher who *invited* a student to come to his home for a lesson every now and then, even though it was a long bus ride and she had to miss two classes because the whole thing took half a day. He opened the front door wearing a bathrobe and of course, nothing else. (You know where this is going.) He (usually) didn’t touch her, but she had to play through her repertoire with his genitalia in full view.

• a student who went to a conference and was *invited* to Noteworthy Professor’s room. (You know where this is going, too.) It was the same sort of bathrobe situation, only he grabbed her and pushed her down on the bed. She was small and fast and managed to somehow escape. He refused to write a letter of recommendation for her and badmouthed her to his colleagues.  She left academia and music forever.

There are so many more. So many more awful, terrible, appalling stories.

There is a brave, badass, professional oboist named Katherine Needleman who has been posting extensively on Facebook about the above and many other situations, particularly those happening at the top of the profession. She’s a major spotlight-shiner on the many (appallingly many) trespasses. I would highly recommend reading her commentary and sticking around to read the replies and comments to her posts. It’s shocking how rampant the assaults are and continue to be. When I was a young student, I was lucky to study with two wonderful major teachers that I was going to name here and gush with appreciation for them but I stopped myself. Why would I? Because they were decent humans? Everyone should be a decent human. These teachers were All About The Oboe. They were scary, demanding, intimidating and inspiring, and thank goodness for me, not predators. It’s weird to appreciate them for not being predators. When I found out that friends and classmates were dealing with unwanted advances and worse, I was slightly more prepared when it happened to me. I took a few summer lessons from someone Katherine Needleman would call a Big Fancy Man (BFM). At his house. Where no one else was home. It was a good lesson, for the first half hour. I mean, this guy. was A God of the Hautbois. When it was time to for me to leave, he shoved me up against the wall, pinning me, “C’mon, c’mon!” Repulsed, I somehow didn’t freeze and my body figured out how to propel me underneath his outstretched arms and disgusting breath.  I ran – I mean RAN – out the door and into the street. Were any cars coming? I don’t remember, but I’m still here. I had my oboe, but my copy of the Marcello Concerto was lost forever. I was 18 years old. I didn’t say a word to anyone for years. Decades, maybe. I was too scared to say anything to anyone, guilty that it could (and of course it did) happen to his other students but I stayed silent. It took me a very long time to just appreciate myself for getting the hell out of there.

That silence. It has been a silent sisterhood, by necessity, for our survival. We’ve adhered to the silence because of the bro culture, the Big Fancy Men who think they’re powerful and that they get to do whatever they want to women because they can, because their egos tell them that women want them. They have pretty much always gotten away with it and they still do. In my early naïveté, I assumed that music would be exempt from this kind of behavior. How could anyone who entered this art form field as a profession besmirch it by being a common sexual predator? My ignorance ended the instant I got pinned against the wall by that God of the Hautbois. He’s dead now but I can still feel the fear, revulsion, and guilt. Guilt! Because I got off “easy,” because I haven’t endured the terrible things that my sisters have. And  finally there was anger. No chance for him to get his comeuppance. I hear all the stories and my wish is for them, the Big Fancy Men, to get caught. Keep getting called out. Get fired. Get arrested. Get something.

Maybe now that the silence has been interrupted in a big way in the press and social media, the culture may actually begin to change. Right? I mean, it is possible. We need to keep speaking up and speaking out. Press charges. Push back. Remember the “Take Back the Night” marches? Let’s take back, the conservatories, the orchestras, the studios. We can give each other courage. That’s what I’m seeing from the response to the recent press and events. Let’s keep going.

And a last note: I am writing this a couple of days after Harvey Weinstein’s rape conviction was overturned. Feels like another zillion steps backward. For the moment. But it’s not a victory for the perps. Enough is enough.

Read Katherine Needleman. Brava to her, a million times over. Facebook and here