Saturday, February 21, 2015

Guest Post: You're Talking About My Dad

The following is a post from a fellow UU blogger, who wishes to remain anonymous. It was written in response to this UU World article "Offenders Among Us", and as part of the #sexUUality initiative taken up by UU bloggers. It will be difficult for some to read … but it also deserves to be heard, which is why I have given it space here.

When you say that those monsters shouldn't be allowed in the doors of the Church, that you would never shake the hand of someone "like that", please remember that you are talking about my dad. My dad who started out the same as all of us – feeling attracted to kids because he was one, and who didn't ever grow out of it. Who kept those feelings a secret and felt he had no choice but to manage it all on his own. Who was unable to find resources … any resources… that offered him anything more useful than vitriolic and unequivocal condemnation. My dad who rejected that story, and had nothing to replace it with other than a determination to just have enough will power.

You are talking about my dad, who lived with urges that most of us cannot judge or understand because we don't have them. My dad who thought he could be strong enough to overcome it on his own.

My dad, who fought a hard fight. And who mostly succeeded.

Who kept his struggle (and mine) a secret because he was afraid. Who rationalized his actions and convinced himself he wasn't harming me, because it was too easy to discredit the dominant voices of the day that painted him as a monster. My dad, who I protected. And am still protecting.

I have always been so jealous of the children of alcoholics, of orphans, or even of those who were beat up as kids. They can tell their stories – sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes inspiring. I can't tell you mine. Not with my name attached. I can't tell you about the damage, or about the redemption. About how common it is for abusers (particularly non-violent abusers molesting children they know well) to be able to come to understand the damage and learn new skills and never offend again. About abusers who come forward voluntarily, and about all that they endure to find the help they need. About potential abusers who have never abused because they recognized their urges early on, and sought treatment.

I want to tell you about my father, who was a good man who failed and was failed, and the damage of it. But I will not, because I don't believe he deserves what you would do to him if I told the truth.

I am not at peace with this choice. It breaks my heart. Because I am aware every day of the children out there who desperately – desperately need to hear a story … any story … that is not dominated by a villain who is an evil, ravaging monster. The vast majority of children who are molested are not molested by force – they could speak up, they could say no, they could tell someone. And they don't. We need to start asking why that is.

I didn't know, when I was a child, that I was a victim of sexual abuse. Because the monster paradigm was not something I was able to recognize as applying to my loving, kind, witty, and creative dad. I knew he could not possibly be a child molester because they were all evil, conscienceless creatures – so I thought it was me that was broken. I wanted him to stop touching me, I pleaded and begged for it. I told my family – who didn't believe me, because my dad is a good man – and endured their vitriolic responses. When I couldn't stop what was happening, I left. I endured foster homes and homelessness and many things that were much worse than the family I could have had if my cultural context had been different.

My father was born the way he is. But the rest – the not having the support or treatment that was needed, the years of silence, the torturous discrediting when I spoke up, the years without a family – all of these things could have been prevented.

I am not saying that evil, sadistic abusers do not exist. That story absolutely happens, and we need to validate it. But we need to leave room for other stories – stories like mine. In my case – and in many cases like it – the pattern was evil. The man was not.

I beg you – on behalf of the child I was, the adult I am now – to have the courage to attack the pattern. I beg you on behalf of the child who is in your congregation right now watching your reaction and measuring your level of compassion - to have the courage to be part of something better. I beg you to stop acting based on what alleviates your own suffering – making you feel safer or like you have taken a stand – and to start acting in research based, carefully thought out, empathetic ways. To center your response and your narrative unequivocally on a single priority – the kids. And that means we have to interact with that abuse in whatever way protects and heals the most kids. Part that is that we must stop asking these children to choose between enduring abuse and shattering their families. It means we need to provide treatment options. It means we need to make it possible for pedophiles to come forward and be treated before they abuse. It means that we need to acknowledge that social support reduces recidivism and start providing whatever we need to provide to protect and heal the most kids. And it means we need to do these things wisely – recognizing the genuine risk of reoffending, and also the need to be in constant conversation with those people in our congregation who have histories of abuse so that they understand our motives and our process.

The world is not divided into two options: Take abuse seriously by demonizing and quarantining abusers … or be "soft" on it by allowing them to seek treatment and reintegrate into society. Validating the pain of abused children does not require demonizing abusers. It requires direct validation of the pain – by taking recidivism seriously and putting safeguards in place, and by acting on the potential that any person has to molest. By telling stories in which a person comes forward and the outcome is something other than shattered lives. By preaching about why you must never say to your child "Oh, just kiss Uncle Harold – he’s a nice man", and teaching parents real skills. By role modeling in tiny ways the idea that boundaries get crossed, and demonstrating that being remedied. By living this stuff out in day to day examples right in our congregations. Observing "Actually, I’m not a hug person" followed by "Oh, I’m sorry, I won’t do that again" can open the door in a child’s mind for a non-adversarial way of coming forward and finally protecting themselves.

We validate the boundaries of children by directly validating those boundaries. Not by attacking abusers.

Do not think that by refusing to shake my father's hand, you are fostering my healing. You are not. You are walling me into silence. You are forcing me to relive and remake all the unspeakable choices that filled my childhood. You are preventing healing – of abusers and their victims by oversimplifying a whole spectrum of complex and nuanced situations.

An abused child does not see you punishing a monster, they see you punishing a person. A person who is very similar to someone in their own life. Maybe someone they love, maybe someone they are afraid of. Maybe someone who is the only person who has ever made their mom smile like that, or the person who helps them with their homework and takes them to swim class. And they don't see you punishing that person because they are a child molester.

They see you punishing that person because somewhere, at some point … some kid told. They see one thing: "This is what happens when you tell". They see "this is what we will do to your father, your mom's boyfriend, your sister … "

Make no mistake: What feeds sexual abuse is secrets, and what feeds secrets is fear and shame. What feeds fear and shame is us.

Let's starve it, instead. Let's create a better story. Something a kid could reach for, rather than live in fear of. Let's let go of the idea that by letting acknowledged offenders in, we lose our safe and quarantined congregations, and acknowledge that we never had them. Let's let that go, and focus on what we stand to gain.

We stand to gain an awareness of the potential for abuse in every situation. You cannot quarantine abusers out of any congregation – they are always there – and gaining that awareness is part of the process of putting necessary safeguards in place. We stand to gain a role model for the people in your congregations who are abusers and are looking for a way out – by modeling effective treatment. We stand to gain a role model for people who were abused, and who cannot quite accept the story that all abusers are evil – but at the same time need to heal from the deep pain inflicted by their history. We stand to gain a validation of the pain of abuse – by having active, alive conversations about prevention that focus on the needs of children. And, we stand to gain a new kind of hope.

On some level, the congregation that proceeds with caution and compassion in this area speaks to, on behalf of, and in defense of the child who is currently choosing between silent endurance and shattering the life of a loved one. That congregation embodies another option – a hopeful vision in which the child can speak up and see their abuser treated and their abuse ended. That congregation trailblazes not just respect for the worth and dignity of abusers. They trailblaze for the abused. They are part of creating a new option for kids everywhere. A safe way out. A real way out.

That's something worth reaching for. It's time to extend our hands.

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