Carlie Fischer is the public policy director for the Maine Coalition Against Sexual Assault.

As recent allegations against Graham Platner have become public, I’ve found myself wondering what survivors of sexual violence are seeing in this moment. I suspect that many of them are measuring it against their own experiences of accountability, or lack thereof.

Survivors were watching when Anita Hill, Katelyn Faber, Terry Crews and Rachael Denhollander were dragged across the coals for sharing their stories of sexual harm
caused by powerful people. Each of these moments was damaging in formative ways, but
the swift, clear response to Jenny Racicot’s disclosure feels different.

This time, at the Maine Coalition Against Sexual Assault (MECASA), we’re watching belief in action, and it’s been both heartening and extraordinary. Elected officials across the country are saying unequivocally that allegations of sexual harm without accountability should disqualify someone from public office, and that represents a cultural shift survivors have waited years to see.

We do ourselves a disservice when we demand perfection, but it’s a strength to remain committed to supporting public figures whose excellence in their field matches their excellence in character. That doesn’t mean expecting people to have lived flawless lives. Rather, we should expect them to practice accountability as an ongoing, normal part of being entrusted with power.

Throughout my career, I’ve listened to more than 1,000 survivors. I used to believe the criminal justice system should be the primary response to sexual harm, but it didn’t take me long to internalize what survivors had been saying for decades — that punishment alone will never be enough.

This bears out in crime statistics. In Maine, roughly 19,000 people experience sexual violence each year, yet fewer than 1,000 report to law enforcement. Instead, in discussions of healing and justice, I’ve most often heard some iteration of, “I just wish they would take accountability.” So, at MECASA, we believe we need to do a better job of defining accountability as a culture, normalizing it and creating conditions where it becomes more likely to be practiced, so that survivors may tell their stories safely.

Fundamentally, accountability requires acknowledging the harm that was caused, listening without defensiveness, accepting consequences graciously, changing behavior and understanding that rebuilding trust takes time, and may never happen. Sometimes it takes years of quiet work to repair and become a safer person.

Every one of us has caused harm. Some harms are profound, others comparatively small,
but accountability is a skill we all need to practice. We can’t expect anyone to become
better at it if we only imagine accountability as something reserved for those who have
caused the greatest harm.

But here’s the thing — survivors rarely get accountability when admitting harm feels more dangerous than confronting the damage itself. The criminal justice system doesn’t incentivize people to admit they’ve caused harm, and neither do we when we immediately write people off as lost causes, monsters or bad people.

We so desperately want to separate ourselves from people who cause sexual harm. We want to believe “those people” are fundamentally different from us. However, the reality is that they’re our neighbors, our colleagues, our friends, our family members and often people we deeply admire or love.

Sometimes accountability requires someone to lose a position of trust, but most people who cause sexual harm continue living in our communities. Many survivors have learned through experience that accountability plays out in social contexts, where the stakes are deeply personal and complicated.

If accountability aims to prevent future harm, we have to care what happens after the consequences. Because of that, creating cultures of accountability requires a belief that change is possible. If we don’t trust that people are capable of growth, accountability is just another word for punishment.

For his supporters, Platner’s campaign has represented hope, even while he’s been open about his fallibility. I believe that he, like all of us, contains multitudes and is more than the worst things he has done — and I also believe survivors when they speak up.

Jenny Racicot is not the only woman to come forward. Several women have publicly described hurtful dating experiences with Platner, and he has acknowledged causing harm, even as he has disputed aspects of those accounts. However, this moment doesn’t have to be an ending for him. It can be a turning point. He has an opportunity to model what accountability can look like, not for political redemption, but because our culture desperately needs examples of difficult repair after allegations of harm.

In this unique moment, the rest of us have work to do, too. By believing survivors, holding a high bar for leaders, making space for people to take accountability and practicing accountability ourselves, we can show the rest of the world how it’s done. For survivors who have spent decades watching what happens when people come forward, that would be something worth seeing.