Here, though, in the story the Times is telling, is another extension of the Clintonian disconnect—one that is as much about the current #MeToo moment as it is about Clinton herself. Here is Hillary, the advocate of women in general, colliding awkwardly with Hillary, the advocate of women in particular. Here is the woman who, in 2008 and again in 2016, proposed to fight for all women—through political policy, and also through the more broadly symbolic fact of her own power—seemingly failing to fight for one of the women who was right in front of her, and directly under her management. Many observers have attributed the force and speed of this #MeToo moment, in a backhanded way, to Clinton herself: #MeToo, that logic goes, came about in part because of the outrage that simmered in many women who had watched the way Clinton, as both a soaring symbol and a vulnerable person, had been treated by Donald Trump. The way he mocked her appearance in his speeches. The way he hulked over her in debates. The way he defeated her in the election itself, grab ‘em by the pussy and all.

And yet. The Times story paints a picture of a Hillary Clinton who is, given her history, both a recipient of harassment and a passive enabler of it. A manager, in other words, like so many of the others who have been revealed in the journalism of the post-Weinstein months: one who learns of an accusation of harassment and addresses it by disrupting the life of the alleged victim, rather than the life of the alleged perpetrator. The boss who found enough evidence of Burns Strider’s wrongdoing to dock his pay and put him in counseling … but who kept him on staff—with all its many other young women—nonetheless. Here is Clinton serving, yet again, as a rich metaphor—this time, though, for complacency and complicity. For powerful people who are concerned, but not concerned enough.

And also: for managers who meet the humanity at the heart of harassment allegations with the clinical language of corporate callousness. It’s unsurprising, perhaps, but notable nonetheless that Clinton responded to the Times’ reporting with a statement that was many steps removed from Clinton, the person: It was written by Utrecht, Kleinfeld, Fiori, Partners, the law firm that had represented the campaign in 2008 (and that, the Times puts it, has “been involved on sexual harassment issues”). The statement was delivered, from there, through an unnamed Clinton spokesman. “To ensure a safe working environment,” it read, “the campaign had a process to address complaints of misconduct or harassment. When matters arose, they were reviewed in accordance with these policies, and appropriate action was taken. This complaint was no exception.”

So while it was Clinton, the manager, the Times report goes, who made the decision to keep Strider on her team, Clinton, the manager, is notably absent from today’s explanation of things. She has outsourced her own decision-making, it seems, to discussions of process and policies—the same anonymous structures that so many other managers have relied on for legal, and moral, insulation. What were the “processes” that kept Strider in his job and his accuser out of hers? You are not supposed to ask. “Processes” are meant to be the answers to their own questions. So are “policies.” Corporations-as-people, if you’d like, but the framework falls apart when organizations are able to deny that humanity as soon as it becomes a liability.