Reviews with content warning for Gun violence - Unbound: My Story of Liberation and the Birth of the Me Too Movement

“Unbound” by Tarana Burke
CW: This book contains depictions of sexual assault, domestic violence, gaslighting, coercion, and gun violence.
Before Alyssa Milano’s #metoo tweet spread like wildfire around the internet in 2017, Black activist and sexual assault survivor Tarana Burke had been doing the work. Raised in a complicated family dynamic and facing early traumas, Burke found her footing in youth leadership and programming only to discover that at every turn children, especially young Black girls, faced similar traumas without support. This book at first feels like it’s going to be the history of the #metoo movement before Milano, before its internet popularity. And to some degree it is. But really this is Burke’s story, the necessary articulation of Burke’s experience as a Black woman which gave her drive to start the movement. Burke writes in a voice that is direct, unflinching, and doesn’t waste time with the elaborate or the elegant. From a literary aesthetics perspective, I sometimes found myself wishing for different language choices or a more consistent theme of metaphors/similes. But this book still has the intended impact and then some, charging readers with a sense of responsibility to extend the work of #metoo without forgetting its roots. There is a lot to consider not only about how we address sexual assault as a culture but also the way we (fail to) acknowledge the work of Black women who are so often ahead of the curve on advocacy.

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stephmcoakley's review

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challenging dark emotional hopeful informative inspiring reflective medium-paced

4.5

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just_one_more_paige's review

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challenging emotional informative inspiring reflective medium-paced

5.0

This nonfiction has been on my TBR since I first saw it on the "new books" shelf at the library a few months ago. As with all things, it took me some time to get to it. Though especially in this case, knowing how intense of a read it was likely to be, I also had to balance my emotional state with reading timing. But my "mood" and the dual availability of physical and audiobooks at the library meant the time was right.

Tarana Burke is a lifelong activist and founder of the "Me Too" movement. In this memoir (read spectacularly by Burke herself, if you are interested in listening to the audiobook), she recounts her own childhood experiences with sexual abuse, the coping mechanisms (supressing the memories and acting the "good" child on the outside while keeping her"bad" side hidden internally) that she used for years, and the social-emotional effects that "splitting" of herself took. As she speaks about her passion for social justice, becoming deeply involved with the 21st Century Program first as a student herself, and then as a leader, her work with other Black kids, especially young Black girls, made her realized how widespread (and how chronically under-addressed) child sexual abuse was in her community. It took an incredibly difficult emotional reckoning of her own for Burke to finally be able to speak and begin to process her own abuse, but that effort gave her the strength and motivation to start the "me too" movement, creating a community of empathy, acceptance, and support to allow women, particularly and centrally Black women, the space and empowerment to speak their own truths and begin their own journeys of healing.

This is not a very long book, and yet its impact on the reader is profound. For the most part, this review will be me just listing the myriad social insights Burke puts into words that resonated with or impressed me (which were many). But even without me writing that, and just from the quick topical overview of what this memoir covers, I want everyone to know how much I recommend this read. It is...so hard. Burke describes in no uncertain terms her own sexual abuse as a child, as well as a number of others' similar experiences, including her own child's. So please be gentle with yourself getting into this. But past that, the strength and generosity of spirit that Burke shows as the movement she worked so hard to find for herself and provide for other Black women goes viral, outside her control and consent, is amazing. She communicates her pride in how it helped create a chance for so many women to feel safe speaking out, while simultaneously making it very clear that this safe space was very much primarily for white women and didn't extend to women of color in the same way, in the way that Burke originally meant it to. There's a lot of feeling and a lot to unpack, as Burke finds herself in an intersectional position of forced choices, as a victim of sexual abuse and rape or as a Black person, trying to serve others like herself, who are both. Burke is admirable in her frank discussion and handling of it. She is similarly admirable in the way she both acknowledges the difficulties of and calls out the lack of accountability in the Black, and 21st Century, communities for holding different internal and external standards.

This isn't the first book I've read addressing sexual abuse, and like all the others, Burke highlights how much we need to shift our conversation about it. The message of “protect yourself/don’t let anyone touch your privates” has its heart in the right place, but continues to put the onus on the victim, leading over and over to shame/fear/pain and internalizing guilt, to young girls believing that they’re dirty and at fault and rule breakers, instead of placing it where it should be, squarely on the back of the person doing the abusing. This goes hand in hand with Burke's introspection, on her personal (but widely shared), inability to handle what happened to her, and the way that rage and suppression feel safer, despite not actually helping process the trauma. The fact that no one is willing to talk about these difficult types of things (like child sexual abuse) allows so much space for it to continue, because the victims don’t have tools or resources to believe in their innocence, or to understand how much they deserve protection and justice. Reading Burke's own coming of age, both as an organizer/activist and in regards to her willingness to openly reckon with her own history with abuse, was inspiring. You could feel her emotion and passion on the page as she begins to recognize the cycle of adults who have unresolved trauma of their own, and how they are then not equipped to help youth process theirs, in herself - and the amount of courage it takes to break that cycle - is astounding. And the way she connects it to the importance of seeing that you’re not alone, that community and empathy are cornerstones in self-acceptance and grace and coming to terms with the duality and complexity of being your authentic self is truly amazing.

This was an incredibly emotional and affecting reading experience, in ways both traumatic and uplifting. There is space held for progress made, as well as a clear call for more work yet to come. Burke's longing for belonging, pushed along by the bravery of the young Black women she worked with, created the intertwining of courage and community for healing, for empathy and trust and knowing you aren’t alone, in a visceral way. And her organizing to help herself and other Black girls and women find a sense of self worth, a surety that they are worthy and seen and valued and deserve to live, have reasons to live, and find who they truly are (not just who the world says you are) is something truly special. What. A. Memoir.

“The story of how empathy for others - without which the work of 'me too' doesn't exist - starts with empathy for that dark place of shame where we keep our stories, and where I kept mine.”

“It’s the trap in which so many Black girls find themselves, either performing our pain or performing through it.”

“There is no question that self-hate severely limits one's capacity to love fully and wholeheartedly. Capacity and desire are not the same thing, especially in discussions of love.”

“I know how hard it hits when you realize that each life has its own purpose, even the lives of our children, and that purpose is not dictated by our needs.”

“I had set out to reinvent myself, but it turned out that I didn't have to start from scratch. I just had to dust myself off, because the best parts were already there.”

"I felt like part of my role in the organization was as ambassador and success story. Not the 'she finished high school and went on to college' kind of success - but the 'she left a dark place and found community and purpose' kind of success."

“It is wildly irresponsible to make people feel comfortable enough to open up without being prepared with the resources to help them process their experiences and receive continued support.”

“What is the point of a movement for liberation if we can't reflect the same dignity and accountability between each other that we are demanding from people outside of our communities?”

"When is comes to sexual violence in the Black community, the culture of secrecy and silence is more complex than just wanting to protect the perpetrator. The long history of false accusations of sexual violence against Black men along with our tumultuous relationship with law enforcement is a factor. The pain of watching folks twist themselves out of shape finding new ways to blame little Black girls for their own abuse plays a part. And the general ranking of sexual violence as minor in the face of things like structural racism and crippling poverty also plays a role in how hard it is for us to stare down the monster that is sexual violence and call it out by name. I believe that our legacy of living under the oppressive reach of white supremacy has trained us to take on shame that is not ours to carry. It's a training that tells us we must have done something wrong or played a role in causing this harm in some way, however small."

"Survivors were always silenced, or shamed, and the community seemed to value whatever modicum of honor or prestige the predator represented over the lives and livelihood of the Black girls in that community."

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