nine. Ducked Taped Mouths

There are not many things that keep me up at night anymore. I have learned that the ways of the world are what they are, and all I can do is wake up rested in the morning in order to have the energy to do a few simple things everyday to spread love and try my best to cause as little harm as possible where ever I land. I try to do what I say I will, and I show up whole heartedly for my life most days. I work on cultivating kindness to offset the pain that seems to be passed from person to person in the form of middle fingers in the traffic lane, yelling in the house next store, or the sheer amount of violence that is happening across the world affecting thousands all in a single moment.

I sometimes wonder if I am just justifying my inaction by saying, “that ‘s just the way it is.” But, I know for me, if I don’t keep justifying it- my heart may be broken all of the time.

Tonight  it’s 2 o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep. For the past 10 years I have working with girls and boys who have been victimized by sexual violence. I heard a few stories today in Africa that compared to the sexual violence I witnessed in Asia and equally matched by the enormous number of youth, adults, and elderly who deal with it everyday in the United States. I’ve heard those stories too.

I rack my brain all of the time about how we start combating this ever growing problem that exists for our whole world. This isn’t Africa’s issue. This isn’t a sex trade problem in Asia.  Rape is everywhere, everyday, every 3 minutes.

My work is not specifically with sexual violence survivors. It’s with youth and it is the reality that  anywhere we find youth who are struggling in a world who refuses to see their worth and holds their age and vulnerability against them- we find victims of a kind of violence that leaves an imprint of pain for years, and years. It’s one that sits with you, makes you replay moments over and over again about what you could have done differently to not be in that place or that time, to have told someone sooner, the list goes on and on.

Most times when we find the courage to talk to girls about rape-preventative counseling is what I have heard it called in the last few months- I think “Why the fuck are we only talking to girls about this?” (Excuse the language here, but I am sure you can let it slide considering the level of frustration with letting sexual violence slide at this point.) What about the other half of the population. Shouldn’t they be in these rooms too? Isn’t it their sisters, mothers, brothers problem too? They are victims as well, they are  also a large majority of the perpetrators. In fact, isn’t it the boys who should be getting the “let’s prevent rape” talk.

1 in 4 girls are subjected to sexual violence before they are 18. The rate for boys is very close behind.

If that is a fact then a very similar number of men (and yes some woman too) are the ones committing the act. Why is no one paying attention to that!!!!

If we want to fix the root problem we should be looking at the root problem.  Somehow that many people think it is okay to sexually abuse, rape, hurt others. They think they can get away with it…..and they are aren’t they?

On a plane ride the other day a human rights lawyer who specifically deals with this issue said to me, “ It’s so complicated. Think about how many people are involved in the act- a quarter of the world really. It’s scary to think about how many people we would have to arrest if we started actually punishing the crime, not to mention child porn. Our jails would be filled. We simply don’t have the manpower. So it’s no wonder that people stay away from it- it’s so complex, and so deeply woven in our societies, and so secretive, it seems impossible to fix. Better to put your efforts at the homeless shelter feeding the homeless.” She was right.

Two days ago I sat in on a counseling session in a rickety school building, light shining through the cracks of wood illuminating the beautiful faces of 50 teen girls. The whole meeting consisted of these girls telling stories of the several creepy men who wander their village and make them feel uncomfortable everyday.  When the teacher asked me to say something- I stood up with sudden fear in my belly. As I looked over the group of girls I realized that many of them had already experienced the sexual violence the others were so fearful of. In fact surely, it was THE quiet ones that have dealt with it. There I was talking to a room full of girls about sexual violence, and all I could think to say was the facts.  I told them the stats. I told them if they have been, or ever are victims of sexual violence to not hold that in, to tell other woman or men they trust. I told them it’s never their fault and even if you go through something as awful as that, you are not damaged. You are still beautiful, strong, and important to the world. 

I said many things in those few minutes, but I didn’t tell them of my sexual violence past. I didn’t tell them I was 1 in 4. I wanted to, but… I couldn’t. I could feel the spirit in me sit down next to the other quiet girls as it often does and instead chose to put my voice(and that part of my story) in my pocket. Foster care wasn’t always a kind place and even now writing this out loud makes me uneasy about how others will see me. The thought of someone pitying makes me churn. The thought of my family feeling bad makes me feel guilty. I have 100 other reasons why my core pushes against this. The thought that maybe I am damaged runs deep, but loses it’s power everyday I choose to move forward instead of staying stuck in a time I simply wasn’t in a safe place. But, it’s still really hard for me to say out loud, even to a group a young girls who may have needed me to. I think it’s time to say it anyway.

I think I figured it out a few minutes ago- 16 years after my abuser left, at 2 in the morning in Africa. Maybe if we want things to change we simply need to start finding the courage deep within to say out loud, “ I am 1 in 4.”  If the whole world wrote that on their shirt for a day, everyday until it stops or at least gets better, it would be easy to see how many people in the same room as you right now are affected.  We no longer would go through it alone. It would be bigger then some frustrated and angry blog post from some graduate student trying to change something that has directly affected her and so many children she loves. It would be OUR problem. 

It is OUR problem.

 I know that no victim wants to be labeled, but then don’t be. Call it what it is and in doing so take power away from the people who have taken power from you. Stick up for the others who come after us. Shove facts and fear of getting caught back in the faces of those who are committing sexual violence, and don’t be surprised when their shirts say “1 in 4” too.

 1 in 4 voices can make a lot of noise. Maybe enough noise to keep people up at night thinking about it, looking for solutions.

I am 1 in 4.