Recently, This Is How You Lose Her author Junot Díaz wrote an essay recounting his childhood sexual abuse for The New Yorker. In the essay, the author explored the ways in which that trauma affected his adult life and wrote that he often thinks "about the hurt" he caused because of his own abuse.
Now some of those who allege they are the ones Díaz was referring to with his lines about the hurt he's caused are speaking out and accusing him of trying to preempt his accusers with the essay.
What We Lose author Zinzi Clemmons is one of the women accusing Díaz of misconduct. She recounted her own experiences with the man on Twitter, where she accused Díaz of "forcibly" kissing her at a literature workshop when she was 26.
As a grad student, I invited Junot Diaz to speak to a workshop on issues of representation in literature. I was an unknown wide-eyed 26 yo, and he used it as an opportunity to corner and forcibly kiss me. I'm far from the only one he's done this 2, I refuse to be silent anymore.— zinziclemmons (@zinziclemmons) May 4, 2018
“As a grad student, I invited Junot Díaz to speak to a workshop on issues of representation and literature. I was an unknown wide-eyed 26 yo, and he used it as an opportunity to corner and forcibly kiss me. I’m far from the only one he’s done this 2, I refuse to be silent anymore,” Clemmons tweeted.
Others took to Twitter to open up about their own experiences with Díaz, including Her Body and Other Parties author Carmen Maria Machado who touched on the misogyny that seeped through her encounter with the bestselling author.
During his tour for THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE HER, Junot Díaz did a Q&A at the grad program I'd just graduated from. When I made the mistake of asking him a question about his protagonist's unhealthy, pathological relationship with women, he went off for me for twenty minutes. https://t.co/7wuQOarBIJ— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
He asked me to back up my claim with evidence. I cited several passages from the book in front of me. He raised his voice, paced, implied I was a prude who didn't know how to read or draw reasonable conclusions from text.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
When I suggested that maybe my question had been answered, and he move on to someone else's question, he refused. He told me he was leaning on me to explain myself, which is what he did with his students. (Never mind that I wasn't his student, or a student at all.)— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
Every time he asked me a question, I answered it, and he became freshly enraged when I refused to capitulate. This went on and on and on and on until he finally ran out of steam.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
And this happened in a room full of people! There's a recording! He was not embarrassed about his behavior at all. A friend of mine was so stressed out from the whole interaction that she texted me saying she'd have to leave so she could go home and take a Xanax.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
And I'll never forget: his male handlers (presumably from the university? I don't know) were sitting directly in front of me, and every time he spoke they nodded enthusiastically and in unison, and every time I spoke, they froze. When I think about those men I want to scream.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
That night, I went to his reading at a local venue. When he got up after his introduction, he said, "Today, someone complained that there was too much cheating in this book. This is for them." Then he read the stories/passages I'd cited hours earlier.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
I'd obviously struck a nerve, though I didn't understand precisely how. Because even if his book contained autobiographical material, I knew that reacting to a reader's criticism this way—confusing yourself for the character—was amateur hour. I knew it even then.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
But what really struck me was how quickly his veneer of progressivism and geniality fell away; how easily he slid into bullying and misogyny when the endless waves of praise and adoration ceased for a second.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
And, like, I was raised with weird Latinx gender shit that I'm still trying to unload and unpack. I know what it looks like. Nothing that I'm describing is particularly novel or unusual. It's just how certain men assert their power.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
In the intervening years, I've heard easily a dozen stories about fucked-up sexual misconduct on his part and felt weirdly lucky that all ("all") I got was a blast of misogynist rage and public humiliation.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
So, Junot Díaz can talk all he wants about writing books that interrogate masculinity, but that's all it is: talk. His books are misogynist trash and folks either don't see it (which disturbs me) or won't acknowledge it (which disturbs me for different reasons).— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
And it sucks for a very particular reason: people of color are so underrepresented in publishing, we have deep attachments to those who succeed. People are defensive about JD because there are so few high-profile Latinx authors. I get it. That doesn't change the facts.— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
Junot Díaz is a widely lauded, utterly beloved misogynist. His books are regressive and sexist. He has treated women horrifically in every way possible. And the #MeToo stories are just starting. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯— Carmen Maria Machado (@carmenmmachado) May 4, 2018
I was 32 and my first novel hadn’t come out yet. I was invited to a dinner and sat next to him. I disagreed with him on a minor point. He shouted the word “rape” in my face to prove his. It was completely bizarre, disproportionate, and violent. https://t.co/WQr0hLW8Z5
— Monica Byrne (@monicabyrne13) May 4, 2018
Prob 7 or 8 years ago I attended a talk by Junot Diaz followed by a Q&A. A white woman, early twenties, asked a question related to an autobiography she was writing. He looked at her, a woman he had never met or spoken to, and responded, "you don't have a story to tell."
— Beth (@Bethfromhere) May 4, 2018
The personal stories inspired others to tweet about their opinions regarding Díaz and how this recent news correlates to the larger #MeToo movement.
Junot Diaz's writing of that essay was a cover up. He knew that someone was eventually going to call him out.— Mpho Ndaba. (@manofcolor_) May 4, 2018
Imagine how many book editors and publishers and universities and book-related institutions know that Junot Diaz harms women, and have ignored his misogyny because he sells a lot of books and draw large crowds.— Evette Dionne ????????♀️ (@freeblackgirl) May 4, 2018
In the New Yorker, Junot Díaz told us how he moved through phases of ‘hurting women’ as a result of his own considerable, awful trauma.
But trauma is no excuse for misogyny.
Women should not have to suffer so that you can heal.
When do we get to heal?— Laurie Penny (@PennyRed) May 4, 2018
Re: Junot Diaz.. There needs to be a whole #MeToo conversation that is JUST ABOUT forcible kissing as a form of sexual assault. It's widespread, enraging, disgusting and abusive and doesn't get talked about nearly enough.— Cardi's Baby Bump (@alwaystheself) May 4, 2018
Why did no-one @NewYorker wonder what Junot Díaz really meant when he wrote of "hurting" people? And why did the Swedish Academy ignore early complaints against Jean-Claude Arnault? Easy to assume that the books world is always lovely and "women-friendly" – it's clearly not.— Elise Williams (@eliseawilliams) May 4, 2018
I really wanted Junot Diaz to not be trash.— Olivia A. Cole (@RantingOwl) May 4, 2018
