Jessica Bakeman: Cuomo Never Let Me Forget I Was a Woman
New York Magazine
Andrew Cuomos hands had been on my body on my arms, my shoulders, the small of my back, my waist often enough by late 2014 that I didnt want to go to the holiday party he was hosting for the Albany press corps at the executive mansion.
I was 25 years old and working as a statehouse reporter for what is now Politico New York. I had been on the Capitol beat for a couple years by then, but I was still among the youngest reporters in the press corps, and one of the few women in the group whose job it was to report on the governors every move. Everyone else was going, and some had been covering state government for decades. I thought if I skipped the event, I might miss out on some intangible opportunity to cement myself as a part of that community. I ignored my instincts and went anyway, walking over from the New York State Capitol Building with several colleagues.
Shortly after I arrived, news broke on my beat, and I had to return to the Capitol. I decided to thank the governor for inviting me and, more importantly, to offer my best wishes for his fathers recovery. Former governor Mario Cuomo was dying at the time.
I walked up to the governor, who was in the middle of a conversation with another reporter, and waited for a moment when I could interject. He took my hand, as if to shake it, then refused to let go. He put his other arm around my back, his hand on my waist, and held me firmly in place while indicating to a photographer he wanted us to pose for a picture.
...snip...
I know my name likely will be attached to this scandal for the rest of my career. I wonder if my hard-won relationships with sources could be damaged if all of a sudden they start looking at me like a snitch, someone who reveals events that are meant to be off the record. The way Cuomo operates is by daring women to make an impossible choice: endure his abuse silently or speak up and risk your career.