'Harvey Weinstein Told Me He Liked Chinese Girls'
Rowena Chiu
Harvey Weinstein told me he liked Chinese girls. He liked them because they were discreet, he said — because they knew how to keep a secret. Hours later, he attempted to rape me.
You’ve most likely never heard of me. I’m not an actress. I don’t even work in Hollywood anymore. I was one of many ordinary, unfamous women trying to do their jobs who were abused by Harvey. What happened on that night would shape the rest of my life. Unbeknown to me, I was about to keep a secret — a devastating, suffocating secret, one that would drive me to attempt suicide twice, one that I wouldn’t breathe a word of to my husband of a decade, one that would silence me for the next 21 years.
In 1998, I had recently graduated from Oxford with a degree in English literature, and my one ambition was to succeed in the film industry. This was perhaps unexpected, given my background: I was born just outside London, to parents who had emigrated from Asia and whose middle-class aspirations for my sister and me took the form of more conventional professional careers, like law or medicine. I regularly attended church and thrived in this sheltered environment.
Working in Hollywood would have seemed an unattainable dream to me back then. So it was like an answer to prayer when I was chosen, while answering phones at a talent agency, to assist Harvey in London on his European productions. When my future colleague, Zelda Perkins, interviewed me, she warned that my potential new boss had a reputation for inappropriate behavior and towering fits of rage, but I was to “handle him robustly” and I would be totally fine.
In July 1998, Harvey was en route to London to attend a private screening of the new cut for “Shakespeare in Love.” I watched as tension levels in the office rose. In the taxi to the screening room, I was coached: “Do exactly as he tells you and you’ll be fine.” My first task was to simply sit directly in front of Harvey during the screening. At one point, fearful that my head was blocking his view, I attempted to shuffle over. “Sit down!” he instantly roared, adding an expletive. I should have known better and left the room (and the job) that very instant.
Years later, I realized this was part of the grooming process — a test of how much I would tolerate. Harvey played games of this sort impeccably, testing how far he could go, wielding both the carrot (if you survived working with him, he could make your career) and the stick (if you refused his advances, he would do his best to ensure you never again worked in the movie industry).
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