Graham Platner Ruin MY Dead Son’s Birthday

My plan this week was to grieve the second birthday following my son’s death from fentanyl. I imagined I’d be re-immersed in my guilt and impotence over his emotional struggles. I imagined I’d wonder for the millionth time if he knew he was dying in that moment. I imagined I’d futilely revisit the things I could have done better, or more of, or tried differently. I’d remember his charming snark and his wit and every magnificent meal he ever cooked for me. And I’d sit tensely through the week knowing that six weeks from now I’d have to do it all again on the anniversary of his death.

I was planning what I wanted to write about in this new stage of grief, sorting through loss and love and questioning where the rough edges remain in my heart when the Platner news began flooding in.

And now I have to layer rage into my well-earned grief.

Another man using his ego, his entitlement, and his penis as a weapon. Oh, goody!

Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s pivoting, so I guess I’ll talk about rage instead, clearing the air for my grief, perhaps.

Yes, we’re rightfully outraged after hearing another story of a man full of hubris behaving badly. Outraged over men in positions of trust and power who show themselves deserving of neither.

These stories continue to pop to the surface, igniting disgust over atrocious male behavior and also the innumerable ways women were dismissed and harmed. And we cycle through it again, each story carrying threads of the last, until another and then another rise to the surface. On repeat.

But Platner isn’t the real issue any more than Swalwall or Gonzales or Mills or Gaetz or Trump are. Yes, they’re all creeps deserving of the harshest of judgment and penalty, but our problem, our real, truest of true problems, is a system problem, not a ‘he’s one bad guy’ problem.

And the system I’m talking about is what society values, in men.

Success.

Success above everything else.

Success over character.

His value is the money and power, and influence he wields.

Every single story that has surfaced of an influential man being sexually violent or manipulative or abusive has also involved minimization of his crimes. The glow cast by our societal reverence for male success has imparted second, third, and fourth chances, regardless of the crime, twisting the infraction into something to be dismissed as nothing more than a moment of poor judgement. Reducing consequences to slaps on the hand because “he has such a promising future” and “look how much he’s accomplishment” and “he was going through a rough time.”

“I believe him, not her.”

His continued success is more important than her emotional or physical health. Always. In all things.

Our blind adoration of men who achieve forgives them of nearly anything until the weight of the awfulness is too obvious to work around or to hide anymore. And only then comes the slap on the hands of mild embarrassment and a position out of the line of sight until an apology tour resurrects them down the road.

Will this ever end?

Not soon, because we are all part of the problem.

We—our society—prioritize male success. It’s evidenced when the Elon’s of the world have never heard no, buying their way into business deals and our governments because their name and wealth influenced regardless of their cruelty. It’s evidenced in the number of men who greedily hovered in the Epstein orbit for access, selectively ignoring what they didn’t want to speak of because they didn’t want the spotlight. It’s evidence at every golf club and tennis club, and high-level conference where access is the draw. It’s evidenced in every dating conversation and marriage consideration. It’s evidenced every time we come across a woman judged because her career is more demanding than his. It is evidenced any time a woman is valued for her beauty, while her intellect is ignored.

We are all part of the problem. We had a hand in creating this. But we can have a role in seeing it end.

We do that by making character and morality great again. Can we?

Now, back to the previously scheduled programming: grief.

Alex, I miss you. On your day, I will go eat the biggest, gooiest piece of cake I can find, even knowing it will make me sick. I will order the bacon-wrapped dates and remember every time you nearly started a broiler fire when you made them. I will remember your laugh and your smile, and I will look at every childhood photo I have while I cry.

Love you, Mom.