I chose this photo for this diary because I need something to smile about and it’s been hard to come by these days, irrespective of the Dems great wins in Virginia and elsewhere. I suppose my condition has some name, but the stories of sexual assault and molestation that have been pouring out of women, and some men, over the last few weeks have me experiencing so many of the same feelings I went through nearly 50 years ago. It’s not good feelings, I assure you.
My biggest problem right now is with the way people, including many of you here on Dkos are addressing Roy Moore and the recent allegations against him. I find the flippant attitude of many extremely disconcerting. There are all the jokesters, who are proving what funny, funny people they are by making jokes about how southern gentlemen always walk their rape victims to the door or calling Roy Moore Rapemore. Ha, ha, ha. Isn’t that just hilarious?
Then there are the many who view this entire thing through a political lens. They exhibit little to no interest or concern for the women who suffered years ago (and those who have likely suffered more recently), but instead focus on the fact that Moore is a Republican and how can this help Democrats. Not a thought given to how these women have felt over the years, watching Moore move up the power ladder to become a fucking Supreme Court Judge and now candidate for the Senate. No ability to avoid seeing that smug mug and hearing that voice no matter where they go, when he’s getting himself in the news all the time. No just putting this behind them and trying to forget. Not a thought to the courage these women had to have to be willing to come forward at a time like this. I can’t even begin to imagine the abuse that’s being visited on them.
And there are the news anchors and journalists. Oh. My. Lord. They sit there while Moore’s defenders blather on and on, trying so calmly to “understand” the position of the defenders. No asking the hard questions there! No “So you’re saying that molestation isn’t that bad a thing?” No “So you don’t think having sexual contact with a child is a terrible thing?” No “So you think that if someone got away with a crime for 30 years, we should all just pretend it didn’t happen?” No “So your Christian conscience doesn’t make you feel compassion for a girl that’s had to live with this memory and the negative impact it had on her for over 30 years?”
Finally, there are the “she shouldn’t have . . .” folks. Yes, those brilliant, brilliant people who are certain that THEY, at 14 or 16, would have been much too smart to allow something like this to happen to them, and so just can’t drum up any sympathy for the foolish, foolish 14 or 16 year old who didn’t realize that every many who treats them nicely might just be doing it because they’re a pedophile. They might be the worst of all.
I expected the defenders. I’ve not had any expectation that this would result in Moore losing this election. Why? Because I know that people don’t actually think sexual abuse of children is that big a deal. Oh, they like to talk the talk. It makes them feel so superior and righteous. But . . . How many people are willing to shun a molester? How many are willing to take a stand that might lose them their job or their marriage or their standing in the community by standing up to a sexual predator? Not very many, I’d say.
Here for those of you who question why women wait for decades to come forward with their stories (which I hope is relatively few on this site) is how that happens — or at least how it happened back when Moore was active and I only hope has changed since then:
A young girl understands very little about sex. Oh, she might have the details of genitalia down and what each part is supposed to do, but she understands little about the impulses, the desires, etc, and understands way, way less about men and how evil they can be. While I suspect nearly every little girl has the potential to be vulnerable to an adult man treating them special, there are those who feel isolated and alone and excluded who are particularly vulnerable. And these evil men know that. And so those men find one of those little girls (more likely multiple little girls) and begin grooming them. The man, we’ll call him Al, finds all sorts of little, subtle, innocent ways to make that little girl feel like HE understands her, he finds her really special, even though no one else recognizes how special she is, he really likes her and enjoys being around her. And she soaks it up. She begins believing in herself just a little. She begins to think that maybe, just maybe, it is everyone else who’s missing out on her attributes and maybe, just maybe, she has something that will make people like and love her. She wants to be around Al because Al makes her feel hopeful and so much less downtrodden.
Then one day, she and Al are alone. She thinks nothing of it. Al begins touching her. She’s uncomfortable. But she doesn’t want to hurt Al’s feelings. And she doesn’t want Al upset with her. So she might try to unobtrusively move away, but Al knows how to deal with that. So she has to decide whether to become aggressive to get it to stop. She’s been taught that good little girls don’t hurt other people’s feelings. So, not knowing what to do, she does nothing. Until the touching has crossed a line. Now the line’s been crossed, it’s too late. How does she complain now? And she’s sure he couldn’t have intended it. It must have been inadvertent, just accidental. She hopes. Until the next time. When it goes further. But she didn’t stop it the first time, how can she stop it now. Didn’t she already essentially give him permission by not stopping him the first time? And so on it goes.
Now she’s so ashamed. What if someone finds out? They’ll know what an evil, horrible little girl she is, she, who’s doing this with the husband of someone she loves — what if that person finds out? What if her parents find out? What will they do? What will they say? She’ll never be able to face them. So life becomes about hiding it. She might pray, as she’s never prayed before, that it not happen again, that it will be over, that someone will rescue her, somehow. Then again, she’s so afraid that someone will guess. Somehow though, even with Al taking her off by herself, no one seems to give it a thought, no one suspects. And she’s torn between relief and despair.
And so she becomes more and more isolated. She’s desperately unhappy and acts out, making her less liked. She spends half her energy figuring out how to make sure no one finds out and the other half trying to figure out a way to make it stop without risking anyone finding out. She’s convinced that if she refuses to go alone with Al, everyone will immediately guess. That will be what gives her secret away. And so, when he comes up with another excuse to take her off on her own, she goes. She’s screaming inside, but she quietly goes. She hates herself more each time she goes. She’s angry with herself. She’s feeling more and more worthless. She’s slowly realizing that no, he didn’t see something worthwhile in her that no one else saw, that wasn’t why he acted like he liked her. He acted that way so he could get her to do exactly what she’s doing. So he’s essentially proved that everyone else was right. She is unlovable. She is unlikable. She is essentially expendable, except for this one thing. It’s the only thing she has that might make someone want her around.
Which leads her to making mistake after mistake after mistake. And each mistake just proves once more that everyone was right and that he was right. She’s worthless. She’s damaged. She just doesn’t matter all that much. And, other than judging her, if others knew, they wouldn’t really care.
Somewhere along the way, years after, she finally gets up the courage to tell a friend — one who lives far away and who she won’t see again for a very long time, so it seems safe. And the friend doesn’t believe her. Years later, she tells a sister. And the sister says “I wondered, because he tried something with me, but I stopped it and he never tried again.” It seems she’s sympathetic, maybe even feels a little responsible that she didn’t do anything to find out or to stop it. And she is. To a degree. But she has no idea of the impact it’s had.
And so life goes on. She begins to think of the little girl as a separate person. She feels so much sympathy for her, her heart breaks for her, thinking of all the pain she experienced. But that little girl is gone now and the adult is here. And the adult gets on with life. Yes, she still has to see Al with some degree of frequency, and every time she does, her gut clenches and she can’t wait to get away. She becomes rude to him. Avoids him. Doesn’t respond to him if she possibly can avoid it, all while he’s still trying to be the oh so friendly chap. She dreams of him dying a slow painful death. She fantasizes ways she could kill him. And life goes on. She wants the world to know what he really is, but she can’t tell anyone. After all, it would devastate someone she loves, and she’d be the cause. It would destroy the lives of many people she cares about. And she’d be blamed. She still knows that. And she buries it a little deeper, tries not to think about it, and when she does, she just feels so sorry for that poor little girl she once was, but not for the woman she is now. After all, she’s become a strong and, in many ways, successful woman. And maybe she wouldn’t have become that if Al hadn’t once expressed a belief in her. Or maybe she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t had to deal with that trauma alone and so become so strong and independent. I mean, there must be a silver lining in every cloud, right?
As she begins reading some of the stories of other survivors, as more and more begin coming forward, it’s both comforting to realize that she wasn’t alone, that others were treated as she’d been treated, that maybe it wasn’t her, maybe it was him. But it also uncovers some of those old feelings that she’s worked so hard to push down. So she’s drawn to every article or story written about molesters yet wants to not hear about, not think about, not remember it. The more she reads, though, the more concerned she becomes that maybe she won’t be the only one — maybe he moved on or will move on to others. And so she tries to approach the person with daughters she thinks he’s most likely going to entice. It does not go well. And all she can do is hope that the daughters will be and have been protected.
Then he dies. Not a painful death. No, he dies in his sleep. How is this fair? The fantasies of a painful death and of murder are now gone. He managed to steal even them from her. And to top it off, she begins slowly to discover that he had multiple other victims. Girls she’d never considered, although thinking back, she certainly should have. And so she learns that her silence, her determination to protect herself and those she loves has caused numerous others to suffer the same fate as herself. The guilt is now not flickering on the edge of her conscience, but is flowing through every fiber of her being. How many of them would have not gone through that if she’d spoken up when it was happening to her? And some of those are people she knows and loves. Does she contact them and apologize? What good would it do them? What would she be hoping to accomplish. And so she continues to stay silent. He’s dead. He can’t hurt any more little girls. Just get on with life.
That’s the story of just one, but I have little doubt every single little girl or boy who’s been sexually abused has gone through some or all of the same things. If anyone actually has a difficult time understanding why women wait 30 or 40 years and then finally come forward when others are doing so, they haven’t ever talked to someone who’s lived it. They don’t understand what it’s like. And, IMO, they don’t understand, because they really don’t care. They haven’t bothered to listen and learn. They’re too invested in protecting whatever it is they believe is more important than the children who live through this kind of thing.
Then he dies.
