PDF Summary:Unbound, by Tarana Burke

You’ve likely heard of the MeToo movement, but you may not know where the phrase “me too” originated. In Unbound, award-winning activist Tarana Burke explores the pivotal role she played in founding the movement. Burke coined the phrase “me too” as a tool for healing from sexual violence based on her own journey of recovery via community connection, and she continues to work toward healing sexual violence in the Black community.

Our guide begins with a discussion of Burke’s experience of childhood sexual abuse. Next, we explore how community organizing helped Burke cope with her trauma and grow. Then, we consider the factors that led Burke to found the “me too” movement. Finally, we discuss how “me too” changed Burke’s life, explain how it relates to the MeToo hashtag, and describe Burke’s hopes for the movement’s future. In our commentary, we’ll provide more context about sexual violence and its intersection with racial injustice, explore both the original and the viral movements, and share other experts' advice on healing.

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Burke’s Activism Was Both Rewarding and Challenging

Burke says her involvement in 21C also opened the door to higher education and a career. After high school, she didn’t have the financial resources to attend college, so she took some time off from school and worked to save money. When one of 21C’s leaders, Rose Sanders, heard about her plan, she pulled strings to get Burke accepted to Alabama State University with full funding. During Burke’s freshman year of college (1992), she continued her activism by organizing protests against racism and sexism. In recognition of her talent and passion for community activism, 21C offered Burke an organizing job in Selma, Alabama when she graduated from college.

(Shortform note: Studies on college enrollment patterns suggest that underprivileged youth often encounter barriers, like a lack of financial resources, on their pathway to college. However, these barriers can be overcome by forming relationships with helpful adults—like Burke’s mentor, Sanders (now known as Faya Rose Touré)—who have knowledge about the college enrollment process, power within their communities, and greater resources. Such relationships provide what sociologists call “social capital”—tangible and intangible benefits you can only receive by participating in those relationships. Building social capital can also help college graduates get jobs (as Burke’s experience with 21C demonstrates).)

Burke explains that her job entailed helping to lead youth camps. At the first camp she organized, she connected with a troubled girl named Heaven. Burke believed she could teach Heaven to channel her rage about injustice into more productive outlets, and together they made progress toward that goal.

However, when Heaven confided in her that she’d been sexually abused, Burke handled it poorly. The conversation triggered her own feelings of grief and shame, so she ended it abruptly and referred Heaven to another camp leader. This broke Heaven’s fragile trust and their connection. When Burke thought about how to handle similar situations in the future, she realized she had to work through her trauma. She started by admitting to herself that she’d been abused.

Dealing with Vicarious Trauma

Hearing a trauma victim’s story can be distressing for anyone due to a phenomenon called vicarious trauma: Others’ disclosures can trigger an emotional response as strong as the emotions you’d experience if you’d lived through the trauma yourself. (This is what Burke experienced in response to Heaven’s story.)

Even though it can be hard, it’s important for professionals to respond appropriately to trauma disclosures like Heaven’s—a negative response, like ending the conversation, can retraumatize the survivor and deter them from seeking support in the future. If someone discloses their trauma to you, experts recommend staying calm, letting them direct the conversation, and showing compassion. If you can’t stay calm because the disclosure evokes your own traumatic memories, that’s a sign that, like Burke, you may need to address your own trauma.

How Burke Founded the “me too” Movement

After Burke’s experience with Heaven prompted her to take the first step toward healing, she continued to pursue both personal and professional growth. In this section, we’ll discuss how becoming a mother inspired Burke to deepen her commitment to healing and protect her child from abuse. We’ll also discuss how a series of betrayals and dead ends in her community led Burke to help others heal by founding the “me too” movement.

Motherhood Empowered Burke to Resist Abuse

After Burke moved to Selma, her on-and-off boyfriend, Sean, joined her. She reveals that Sean had always been abusive—for example, when they were in high school, he threatened to kill himself if she moved away for college. But she didn’t realize that he was abusive until an incident that occurred after she became pregnant at age 23. During an argument, Sean attacked her, trapped her for hours, threatened to kill her, and finally raped her. She realized that this was different from other fights they’d had—he took advantage of her pregnancy, which made self-defense more difficult. She knew that she didn’t want to expose her child to such an unhealthy relationship, so a few days later, she broke up with him and kicked him out.

(Shortform note: Many people find it difficult to end abusive relationships. One reason for this is that it can be difficult to recognize that your relationship is abusive in the first place—typically, people enter relationships on good terms with one another, but the abusive partner makes subtle behavioral changes over time that can be hard to pick up on until a clear threat occurs. Pregnancy can also make it difficult to leave an abuser. Studies show that abuse often escalates during pregnancy and that pregnancy increases a woman’s likelihood of being murdered by an abusive partner. Despite the dangers associated with leaving an abusive relationship while pregnant, pregnancy often motivates women to leave out of a desire to protect their children.)

Burke Protected Her Child From Community Failures

Burke explains that by virtue of her activism in Selma, she’d built up a community in whose hands she felt she could entrust her child. So after the birth of her child, Kaia, who is nonbinary, she often relied on her community for childcare or brought Kaia to work with her. However, over time, Burke faced a series of major betrayals by key members of her community, including Sanders, the mentor who’d helped her get into college. Let’s explore two of these betrayals:

First, at a community event where Burke was working, Sanders’s adult nephew attempted to molest Kaia. When Kaia and their friend ran to Burke for help, Burke punched the man. Although news of the altercation spread through the community, Sanders sent her nephew to work alongside Burke at the local museum, where Burke often brought her child. When Burke and Kaia saw him waiting outside the museum from their car, Kaia urinated on themself with fear. (Shortform note: Bathroom accidents are a commonly recognized sign of sexual abuse in children.)

Burke addressed the issue with Sanders, who argued that she hadn’t known the whole story and couldn’t deny the man work based on a rumor about petty conflict. This claim was false and only served to deflect blame, Burke adds.

Second, Sanders invited Reverend James Luther Bevel, a civil rights activist who’d worked alongside Martin Luther King Jr., to work with children in Selma. Burke explains that she distrusted Bevel from the start because he made inappropriate, sex-focused statements around the children he taught. Later, Burke discovered that Bevel was a pedophile who’d molested his own children and that Sanders had known this about Bevel when she invited him to join the community. Burke was furious—her own child and her community’s children had been needlessly exposed to serious danger. As a result, she stopped engaging with Sanders. (Shortform note: In 2008, Bevel received a 15-year prison sentence for his sexual crimes.)

Cultural Betrayal Trauma

These two betrayals may have resulted in what psychologist Jennifer Gómez refers to as cultural betrayal trauma. According to this paradigm, marginalized people build community with one another to help protect themselves from societal trauma (like racism, against which Burke’s community in Selma was organized). When someone inside the community experiences violence at the hands of another community member, it’s not only traumatic on a personal level; it’s also traumatic on a cultural level, as it shatters the protective trust around which the community was initially organized.

Cultural betrayal trauma can be exacerbated by what Gómez calls (intra)cultural pressure: Cultural authorities or others within the community might prioritize the perpetrator’s needs, or the benefits the perpetrator provides to the community, over the victim’s needs. Burke experienced (intra)cultural pressure during both betrayals: first, when Sanders argued that the man who attempted to molest Kaia deserved an opportunity to work, and second, when Burke realized that by inviting Bevel to work with children, Sanders had decided Bevel’s contributions to society outweighed the need to ensure children’s safety.

When sufficiently negative, cultural betrayal trauma can result in cultural fractures—for example, Gómez explains that people who experience cultural betrayal trauma might internalize stereotypes related to their cultural identity or pull away from their communities. We’ll discuss the effect these betrayals had on Burke’s relationship to her community later in this guide.

Betrayals and Dead Ends Prompted Burke to Say “me too”

Burke says that the betrayals she and her child experienced at Sanders’s hands eroded her trust in and commitment to her community. They also helped her recognize the need for anti-sexual violence activism within her community. A second factor also made this need evident: When Burke tried to find resources and support for victims of childhood sexual abuse, she hit dead ends. Burke explains that in her work with children, many girls disclosed that they’d experienced sexual violence. She took several of them temporarily into her home to help keep them safe. But Burke felt helpless to prevent harm from befalling them, and every resource she tried to enlist in helping them, including the local rape crisis center, was unwilling to help.

(Shortform note: Since children and adolescents are dependent on the adults in their lives to ensure their well-being, those who suffer violence often rely on informal adult advocates, like Burke, to help them access and navigate safety and healing resources. But that’s just one piece of the puzzle (and for many children, even that piece never falls into place). Young victims of violence often also face systemic barriers to seeking professional help—for example, rape crisis centers and similar resources are chronically underfunded and overextended in many areas. Children also often have difficulty accessing resources due to cost and lack of transportation, and many professionals are underqualified to offer the kind of support child victims of sexual violence need.)

In a moment of intense dejection after she ran into these dead ends in 2005, Burke prayed for direction. God’s response, she says, was that she must forge a new path ahead: Since she couldn’t protect vulnerable girls from sexual abuse, she would help them heal, using what she’d learned from her own healing journey. (Shortform note: In Seeking Wisdom, Julia Cameron says that prayer can bolster your creativity. Although Cameron’s advice is intended to help artists capture inspiration, Burke demonstrates that this method can be applied to creative problem-solving, too.)

Burke says she realized that to effectively lead such a program, she’d have to be honest and vulnerable about her own experiences of victimization and healing. This required her to finally face the memories she’d stuffed down for years. She dedicated a night to remembering all she’d gone through. At first, this process was agonizing, but eventually, pain gave way to contemplative thought. Her memories provided valuable insights—she realized that empathizing with Maya Angelou had helped her feel less ashamed and that the prospect of empathic connection had emboldened Heaven to break her silence.

With the importance of empathic connection in mind, she came up with the phrase “me too,” which would become a cornerstone of her movement.

(Shortform note: Why did Burke have to face her traumatic memories in order to help other victims of sexual violence? Many trauma survivors struggle with intrusive memories, which are vivid, unwanted trauma recollections like the flood of memories Burke experienced when Heaven told her she’d been abused. Those who suffer from intrusive memories often respond by consciously suppressing them, which makes them less potent when they recur. However, experts believe that you can only begin healing from trauma by confronting your memories head-on (ideally with the help of a therapist). This is because healing requires that you make sense of your trauma as a meaningful part of your life story—like Burke did by turning her pain into an opportunity to serve others.)

The Power of Empathy in Healing Sexual Violence

The basis of Burke’s “me too” movement is empathy—the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, which is often easier when you share common experiences. Let’s explore the role empathy plays in healing from sexual violence.

Burke explains that Angelou’s influence on her taught her that when survivors empathize with other victims of sexual violence, it can help them see themselves in a more compassionate light. Burke also suggests, based on her experience with Heaven, that a survivor may be more likely to open up about their experiences if they think the person is likely to empathize with them (because they’re also a survivor). Some researchers argue that both of these effects of empathy—improved self-compassion and transparency leading to solidarity—are the foundation for structural change: The more victims call attention to the problem of sexual violence and unite to overcome it, the more society deems prevention and accountability necessary.

Experts note that an empathic approach to the problem of sexual violence can foster societal healing in other ways.

For example, trauma expert Judith Herman argues that victims of violence long for a sense of justice. For many victims, this sense of justice is nontraditional. Instead of hoping that those who harmed them will be punished (for example, with legal consequences), they want their communities to hear, validate, and respect their experiences, instead of shaming them or enforcing their silence. Some survivors also hope for restorative or transformative justice, which gives offenders opportunities to understand and rectify the harm they’ve done and to work toward a future without violence. All these visions of violence incorporate empathy—in some cases, not only for the victim, but also for the perpetrator.

The Impact of Burke’s “me too” Movement

We just discussed how the toxicity that enveloped Burke’s community in Selma pushed her to found the “me too” movement. Now, we’ll explore the impacts these developments had on Burke’s personal life. We’ll also describe Burke’s thoughts on the viral hashtag inspired by her movement (MeToo) and her hopes for the “me too” movement going forward.

Burke Brought “me too” to Philadelphia—and Her Own Home

The betrayals and dead ends Burke met with in Selma irreparably fractured her ties to that community, so she decided to relocate to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. There, she got a job as a youth advocate and turned “me too” into a full-fledged program. Burke explains that this program consisted of four-step workshops designed to jumpstart the healing process for victims of childhood sexual abuse:

1. Burke would begin by sharing a famous survivor’s account of sexual violence. She used these accounts to provide definitions of various types of sexual violence.
2. Next, she’d reveal the survivor’s name, underlining the fact that many highly respected role models had suffered—and more importantly, recovered from—sexual violence.
3. Then, she’d invite girls to share whether these stories resonated with them. If they didn’t want to speak aloud, she said they could discreetly write “me too” on a slip of paper. They could also decide to share their contact information for a follow-up conversation.
4. Finally, Burke would explain the important role community plays in healing from sexual violence.

(Shortform note: Each of the four steps Burke describes adds value to the workshops for survivors. The first and second steps give survivors a positive role model to relate to and help them contextualize their experiences—we’ve already discussed how positive role models and education benefit survivors. The third step reaffirms survivors’ agency, which is key to making them feel comfortable enough to share their experiences (a fact critics of mandatory reporting procedures in education, which violate victims’ agency, have emphasized). The fourth step provides survivors with insight about how they can move forward (something many people find daunting at first) and teaches them that social support can help them heal.)

Leading these workshops equipped Burke with the tools she needed to reach her child. Burke explains that she often asked Kaia if they’d been sexually abused, but she eventually realized that this point-blank approach was unlikely to elicit an honest response. So with her workshops in mind, she tried a different approach: She reminded Kaia that she loved them unconditionally and that they could share anything with her in writing if speaking it aloud was too difficult.

In response, Kaia wrote a note disclosing that they’d been sexually abused. Burke comforted Kaia while they cried and explained what happened, stressing that Kaia wasn’t at fault. Then, Burke opened up about her own victimization to show Kaia that they weren’t alone and that healing is possible.

(Shortform note: If you’re wondering whether a child in your life has been abused, experts recommend watching for signs—like mental health struggles or behavioral problems—and choosing a safe, private place to start a conversation with them. During the conversation, you may want to use an easygoing tone, words they easily understand given their age, and reassuring phrases (like Burke’s reminder that she loved Kaia unconditionally). Experts also recommend that parents have candid conversations about private body parts and healthy boundaries from an early age—this can help protect children from potential abusers and equip them with the language and comfort level they need to describe their experiences to you.)

In addition to helping her child begin healing from sexual violence, Burke’s involvement in the “me too” movement has made two other major differences in her life: First, although the work can trigger difficult memories and emotions, it’s also incredibly fulfilling and empowering. Burke explains that when it comes to coping with the sexual violence she endured, it helps to know that her pain has enabled her to serve a greater purpose (helping others heal). Second, Burke’s work with “me too” helped to heal her relationship with her mother. It forced her to open up honestly about her victimization and, when she and her mother ran into one of her childhood abusers, Burke felt for the first time that she had her mother’s full support.

(Shortform note: The benefits Burke says she got from working in the “me too” movement constitute post-traumatic growth, a kind of psychological development that can occur when dealing with trauma changes the way you see the world and your place in it. Studies suggest that many survivors of sexual violence find that helping others avoid or heal from abuse leads to post-traumatic growth. Burke’s post-traumatic growth had a positive ripple effect: Although family members often have a difficult time dealing with sexual violence disclosures, her decision to open up about her abuse helped her mend her relationship with her mother.)

Burke’s Hopes and Fears for “me too”

Burke explains that her grassroots “me too” movement eventually transformed into something much larger and that this transformation evoked both hopes and fears for the future of the movement. Let’s explore that transformation and its effects now.

How “me too” Became the Viral MeToo Movement

Burke explains that her “me too” movement became a national phenomenon shortly after she moved to Philadelphia. She promoted it via Myspace, which created an influx of questions about how survivors could get involved or access resources. But the movement didn’t become truly viral until 2017, 12 years after Burke established it. In the wake of accusations levied against director Harvey Weinstein, actor Alyssa Milano tweeted a request for any woman who’d experienced sexual violence to use the hashtag MeToo. Milano hoped that this would illustrate how pervasive sexual violence was. The hashtag exploded in popularity, leading to what’s known as the MeToo movement.

(Shortform note: The MeToo movement was one of a series of Twitter campaigns, occurring in short succession, that were designed to raise awareness about sexual violence. Other trending hashtags included NotOkay, inspired by Trump’s predatory behavior, and BelieveWomen, inspired by Christine Blasey Ford’s accusation against then-nominee for the Supreme Court Brett Kavanaugh. After Milano tweeted the hashtag MeToo, which she said she hoped would shift attention onto victims and away from offenders like Weinstein, a deluge of tweets about sexual violence followed, ushering in a new era of online sexual violence disclosures. In 2020, Weinstein was sentenced to 23 years in prison for his sexual crimes, although the conviction was overturned in 2024.)

When Burke learned about the MeToo hashtag, she feared that wealthy white women were co-opting her movement, which was intended to prioritize Black people’s healing. To some extent, she says, that’s exactly what happened: The MeToo hashtag focused national attention on wealthy white women’s experiences of sexual violence, even though Black girls, women, and nonbinary people suffer disproportionately higher rates of sexual violence and are less likely to access support and healing resources. However, Burke also says that MeToo paved the way for victims who felt alone or ashamed to speak their truth and make healing connections with a community of survivors—in this respect, her original intentions for the movement were realized.

(Shortform note: The lack of support Black women receive despite their increased risk of sexual violence is rooted in historic racism. In Redefining Rape, historian Estelle Freedman explains how racist stereotypes led to cultural and legal definitions of rape that made it impossible for Black women and girls to identify as victims (especially when the perpetrators were white men). For example, in some states, the age of consent was lower for Black girls than for white girls, making Black girls more vulnerable to abuse without options for recourse. Black survivors, including Burke’s child Kaia, argue that this form of racism is ongoing—to illustrate, one expert notes that Black-centered sexual violence organizations tend to receive less funding.)

Burke’s Work on Surviving R. Kelly

Burke has lent her expertise on healing from sexual violence to projects outside her “me too” movement. For example, she contributed to the Surviving R. Kelly docuseries, which detailed R&B artist R. Kelly’s serial abuse of Black girls and women. Burke says that she hoped this docuseries would create an opportunity for honest, healing conversations about sexual violence in the Black community, empower Black women to speak up and begin healing, and encourage Black men to join the fight against sexual violence. However, the docuseries provoked significant backlash from the Black community, and she was accused of hating Black men.

(Shortform note: Although Surviving R. Kelly garnered some backlash—including a marked increase in streams of Kelly’s music after the documentary aired—it also galvanized efforts to hold Kelly responsible for sexual crimes he committed over a period of 20 years. After the documentary aired, his record company stopped working with him, his concerts were cancelled, and he was swiftly charged with multiple counts of sexual abuse, sex trafficking, and child pornography. Kelly was convicted of many of these charges and, as a result, was sentenced to 30 years in prison in 2022.)

Burke lists a few reasons for the backlash that resulted from Surviving R. Kelly: First, the Black community often protects men who are accused of sexual violence. This tendency evolved from a history of white women falsely accusing Black men of rape, which led to the men’s incarceration or death. The community is especially likely to protect Black men who make valuable contributions to Black culture—both R. Kelly and James Bevel, who we mentioned earlier, fall into this category. Protecting these men often amounts to silencing or scorning their Black female accusers. Second, because white racists view Black people as a homogenous group, Black people are incentivized not to draw attention to any Black person’s moral failings.

(Shortform note: In Redefining Rape, Freedman provides further context on the history of white women falsely accusing Black men: Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, white racists equated Black identity with animalistic sexuality—and they painted Black men as natural predators of white women. These beliefs were so widespread that unfounded accusations were often used to justify lynchings of Black men, a legacy that resonates today since, as Michele Alexander (The New Jim Crow) explains, Black men remain unfairly criminalized by the US justice system. The second reason Burke gives for the backlash against Surviving R. Kelly—the Black community’s fear of affirming racist stereotypes—is known as stereotype threat.)

Burke explains that since neither the MeToo movement nor the fallout of the Surviving R. Kelly series created space for the Black community to begin healing from sexual violence, she continues to promote that healing from inside the community-focused “me too” movement. She hopes that by continuing to share her story and work with individuals within her community, she can foster a supportive environment for Black survivors of sexual violence and encourage a culture of accountability for abusers.

(Shortform note: In the midst of an April 2024 investigation into the rapper Sean Combs (known as “Diddy”) on suspicion of sexual violence and sex trafficking, Burke suggested that the Black community’s attitude toward accountability and support for survivors of sexual violence has shifted in a positive direction since Unbound’s publication. She noted that in Diddy’s case, Black people (and the general public) have been more inclined to believe victims’ accusations and to talk about sexual violence instead of shutting the conversation down. This came as a surprise to Burke, given the backlash she received for working on the Surviving R. Kelly series. Burke attributes this shift in attitude to a changing world—the younger generation, she says, is far less tolerant of bad sexual behavior.)