when I was in my very early twenties, my friend Kelly accidentally walked in on me having sex. She screamed and then went back in the other room and laughed. I wanted to die and the guy tried to convince me to finish...as if I could. Here is what I know for sure, if Kelly would have walked into the room to see me being raped, she would have done whatever the hell she could have to stop it. And I was a grown woman. You probably see where I'm headed with this?
Let's just get this out of the way up front, everything is still "alleged", so assume everything I write here has that word in front of it. We are a country of innocent until proven otherwise, so I'm going to at least give a nod to that. Only those people directly involved know what they did or didn't do. Even as I write this paragraph, as someone who experienced childhood rape firsthand, I feel it a betrayal to the victims, Because when you speak up about it, you really need people to believe you. Using the word "alleged" makes it sound as if we are not certain of the truth those brave young men are telling.
Another thing I'd like to put here at the very beginning is this, if you haven't read the Grand Jury "Findings of Fact" you can do so here: http://www.freep.com/assets/freep/pdf/C4181508116.PDF I'm going to warn you, the stuff you read will stick with you. It's graphic and sickening. If you believe those who knew did the "right" thing by fulfilling their legal obligation to those young boys, read this and ask yourself what you would have done.
We've heard lots of things about who is or isn't to blame for this horrific crime that was committed against those boys. We've heard discussion about who knew and when and what they did or did not do. We hear it repeatedly called a "scandal" as if it's some celebrity getting divorced. It's a crime, not a scandal. It's a man accused of serial rape against little boys who trusted him. It was a man who seems to have created his own crop of victims. He took boys who needed someone to help them find their way and changed the direction of their lives, not for the better as he had promised, but into the hell that is living with childhood rape. Don't call him a monster, because that brings up pictures of someone lurking in the shadows waiting to do harm. He was a smiling, grandfatherly, accomplished man who raped little boys. Allegedly.
He betrayed his charity and every single person who volunteered there because they believed in doing good. He betrayed every single student and alumni at that University. He betrayed the staff. He betrayed his family and his friends. He betrayed the sacred trust a parent bestows on someone they believe is worthy of caring for their precious child. He groomed those boys to see who was the most vulnerable, who worshiped him the most, then he slowly saw how far he could go with them before the screaming they were likely doing inside their heads actually became audible to those around them. Then he "aw shucks, I'm so sorry" himself right out of trouble, it seems. Allegedly.
Can you imagine being the little guy who spoke up and said that this man was hurting him? How brave, truly. But I imagine that when his fear of what was being done to him out-weighed his fear of telling he must have been living in absolute hell. Because telling is the hardest thing to do, so the living with the abuse must have been so intolerable, so horrific that he chose the hardest option over letting it continue. How many boys did this kid save? This kid, who was the victim was brave enough to speak out. But grown ass men weren't. Allegedly.
I was in my twenties when I finally told someone about being molested, and I told friends. I didn't tell my mom or any other family members until I was in my late twenties, after my dad died. I didn't tell the police or anyone who could do anything legally about it. Now when I was a child, I didn't tell because he told me that if my dad knew my dad would kill him and go to prison. I knew that to be a truth. But when I was grown, why didn't I tell? I'm likely not the only child he ever hurt. What if he was still doing that when I was old enough to know that I should tell? I didn't tell until after Dad died because I still knew he'd kill the guy. I'm not saying that flippantly, if you knew my dad, you know I'm not joking. I didn't tell because I didn't want anyone to see the stain that I saw when I thought about it. The stain on me. But I didn't tell and now, after hearing what keeping quiet does, I'm going to have to live with that. I'm not sure how to do that. I guess I will have to remember that I wouldn't judge another victim for not speaking up. To me, after it was over, the hell of telling was hotter than the hell of silently living with it. The guy is dead, has been for a long time, so I know he's not hurting anyone now, but I'm going to have to find a way to deal with the thoughts that between me being 8 years old and his death, I kept my mouth shut.
Before we get too far down the street and you start thinking that I am excusing those adults who knew about the abuse but did the minimum required by law and nothing required by morality, I am not. Not even a little bit. I don't care if it was your "God" raping a child in a locker room, you move your ass to stop it. I don't care if it will result in a huge "scandal" and the loss of unfathomably large sums of money, or if it will absolutely change the landscape of your job and employment, you speak the hell up for someone who can't.
See the thing that keeps playing in my head is that these people didn't stop knowing what they knew. It's not something one can forget seeing or hearing about. You don't know one day and then wake up the next not knowing it. So for years people knew every morning they woke up and every night they went to sleep and every moment in between. Those are millions of moments when they could have decided to do the right thing and simply chose not to. Doing nothing is doing something. Deciding to stay silent or to excuse yourself because you followed a chain of command is deciding to allow setting fire to some child's life and watching it burn. And knowing that it's likely another match is being struck for another boy and another boy and another boy.
The man who did this, allegedly, the man who groomed and raped those boys is wholly responsible for that. You can't think it's innocent horseplay, in my opinion. It's not an "oops, sorry, my bad" sort of thing. It's premeditated and habitual and f**ked the hell up. Without his actions, there wouldn't have been a need for cover-up. No one else, people he supposedly respected and loved and had friendships with, would have been put in a position to turn him in or protect him. Those who knew and didn't do every single thing in their power to make it stop, those who looked the other way, those who slept at night knowing what they knew, are responsible for that. They didn't rape anyone, but they sure as hell didn't stop any rapes. Neither did I. Silence never does stop anything. To tell that man after having an eyewitness to him sodomizing a little boy that he just wasn't allowed to bring boys to campus anymore was, in my opinion, saying, "You can rape kids, just don't do it here." I'm sure that wasn't their intent, but that's what happened. Allegedly.
I think about those children who saw someone they likely thought would save them while their little bodies were being brutalized and it makes me hold my breath. Those babies were perhaps thinking they were going to be saved by that witness, only to find out no one was going to save them. Not only were they not going to help, they were going to help cover it up and pretend like they didn't know it would continue. I almost can't carry that image, so just think of what those kids have to carry. Imagine all the hope that this torture would end leaving them. They were broken and ashamed and confused and haunted by what had happened, the abuse and then the lack of a hero saving them from someone they thought was their hero. Allegedly.
The real heros, the ones we should be chanting for and making posters for are those boys who came forward, the families of those boys for their unwaivering support, the investigators who knew they'd be threatened and hated. Those heros don't want that attention, probably. Those boys just wanted it to stop and now it's a national spectacle. I believe there are more boys who haven't been able to bring themselves to tell their stories of abuse, and after seeing some misinformed and foolish youths flip a news van because they are pissed that someone finally, finally has taken action, I'd think it just added a layer of fear to the other victims. Well done idiots. But then look at the example that was set for those students by those charged with educating them... silence those who have been harmed and protect those doing the harm in order to protect the University and its money. Mostly its money. Allegedly. Thankfully, the vast majority of students know the difference between right and wrong and saw no gray here.
When I write something I know I need a beginning, a middle and an end. I know those things need to tie together, they need a common thread running through it to make them cohesive. I don't like not having an ending. With this story I think we're still, unfortunately, somewhere in the beginning... for that football program, for the students, for the administration and for the boys and their families. My hope is the ending is one with a fresh start for those who are innocent victims and for those who have been betrayed by association with that University and charity. My other hope is that for the guilty, there's no redemption, there's only a spot in hell. That's not alleged, that's a fact.
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