Sonia Sodha, Observer columnist/
The Guardian, UK

Disney’s sacking of the contrite James Gunn plays into the hands of people with unpleasant agendas

Since it started trending on social media 10 months ago, two things have come to define the #MeToo moment. One is the powerful public testimony of women and men who have experienced sexual harassment and abuse in settings from Hollywood to Westminster. The second is the occasional sacking – or bringing down – of the powerful wrongdoer.
For men such as Harvey Weinstein, that loss of status and privilege could not have come soon enough, but the rolling of some other heads has created a sense of unease. Most recently, Disney’s sacking of James Gunn, the director of the Guardians of the Galaxy film franchise, for a series of deeply offensive jokes about rape and paedophilia, has prompted a wave of sympathy. Several of the films’ stars have written an open letter calling for him to be reinstated.
Like many, I worried that what would stymie the power of #MeToo would be a cultural backlash against those speaking out. But the Gunn case illustrates a different threat looming: people with other agendas jumping on the bandwagon.
There are a number of reasons why his sacking sits uneasily. There’s no question that his jokes were offensive (neither were they very funny), but they were made between 2009 and 2011. There are signs that Gunn has honestly reflected since: in 2012, he issued a profuse apology through LGBTQ organisation Glaad for a homophobic post made the previous year. After Disney sacked him, he offered an unreserved apology.
There’s also a sense of the company throwing him to the dogs at the first opportunity. His jokes were in the public domain; Disney must have been aware of his track record. So why did it summarily dismiss him within 24 hours of the tweets being republicised?
There’s a risk summary dismissals end up being counterproductive to the behavioural change feminists want to see
Although his sacking may vaguely resemble a #MeToo moment, it was no such thing. It was not preceded by statements from women who worked with him; it was confected by “alt-right” blogger Mark Cernovich, one of several unsavoury figures who have pledged to go after high-profile Trump opponents in revenge for ABC’s sacking of Trump-supporting Roseanne Barr after she posted a racist tweet .
For the far right, “piling on” kills two birds with one stone. It delivers their enemies’ heads on a plate, while at the same time invoking inevitable comparisons with #MeToo, delegitimising a movement that’s antithetical to the far right.
But Disney has also got something to answer for. Its sacking of Gunn was purely about corporate reputation management. If the company genuinely cared about the objectives of #MeToo, it might have not hired him in the first place. Or it might have reflected on the casual sexism some saw in the first two Guardians films. Or it might have spoken to Gunn before hiring him and verified that he really did regret his old jokes and then stood by him.
“There is little due process in the court of public opinion,” the signatories of the letter to Disney wrote. They’re right. But #MeToo took off in the way it did because due process has failed women for decades. The stories that have emerged from Newsnight’s ongoing investigation into bullying in parliament shows what happens when victims tried to raise their treatment through due process: it was they who suffered the consequences, not the bullies.
But while a lack of due process might be the inevitable consequence of #MeToo, it’s never been about securing heads on a platter. There’s a risk summary dismissals end up being counterproductive to the longer-term cultural and behavioural change feminists want to see. Yes, Weinstein’s a monster, but he’s also the product of a society that enables him by failing to call out low-level harassment. You’ll never root out the Weinsteins by sacking them after the fact. If #MeToo’s results stop and start with sackings, people are let off the hook for the much deeper cultural change needed – allowing them to pass the buck for abusive behaviour in which they are complicit. Nor is a sacking necessarily the appropriate response to something such as an offensive joke; far more meaningful would be an apology, reflection and a commitment to reform.
Disney, like the far right, is guilty of undermining #MeToo. Its sacking of Gunn sets a worrying precedent for companies, perhaps making them think twice about employing people who’ve said bad things, even when they’ve apologised and reformed. The MP Naz Shah is a case in point: after her sharing of an antisemitic Facebook post came to light, she was suspended from the Labour whip. She has since been praised by the Jewish community for her efforts to reach out and make amends and subsequently been promoted to the frontbench. Do we really want to live in a world where people can’t apologise, atone and find redemption?
So the big challenge for supporters of #MeToo is how we allow the movement to mature beyond its heads on a plate moment. The Gunn sacking shows a culture wars-style backlash isn’t the only threat. #MeToo’s reliance on the court of public opinion is built into its very DNA and it is not only a strength but a weakness that those with their own agendas – whether multibillion-pound media corporations or far-right bloggers – stand ready to exploit.