Family

I was putting together our holiday card the other day and I took a step back and looked at the finished product. Assembled before me was a collage of a happy family – Happy New Year from the Surruscos  it read – two beautiful children, a Mom, a Dad; all crammed together in a photo booth at the beach; or dressed up like Buzz Lightyear; or grinning in the December cold. I almost pinched myself to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming. This was my family. A family that I created. The family that I never thought was possible for me.

When I was in the midst of my abusive relationship with Jason, we talked about marriage. I remember thinking to myself as we toyed around with the details that I would likely kill myself if I married him. The funny thing was, as this thought was going through my head, I didn’t feel that I could do anything to stop it. We would get married and I would feel so trapped and so miserable that the only way out for me would be death. That was just the way it was going to be. At the time, I didn’t know how to get out, get away or build a life outside of him.

Now, nearly 20 years later, I still can’t believe that I managed to build something as beautiful and wonderful as the family depicted in that card. I couldn’t have done it without the gentle patience of my husband Michael, who has truly taught me the beauty and wonder of love. Together, we have built the real, chaotic, joyful family that I never imagined would be mine.

Playing games with women’s lives

My cousin Kelly, who lives in Burlington, VT, sent me an article recently that reports how members of a fraternity at the University of Vermont sent a questionnaire asking “Whom would you like to rape?” The national fraternity organization Sigma Phi Epsilon responded by closing the fraternity indefinitely – although the members will still be allowed to live in the house and no one will face ramifications from the school itself.

While no “crime” was committed, this questionnaire shows that the rape culture is still alive and well on America’s college campuses. Such language shows a complete ignorance of what rape actually means and hints at a misogynistic mentality that conveniently forgets that women are human beings. My college didn’t have fraternities. However, when I was a college sophomore I visited my abuser’s best friend’s fraternity at a large state school. The day we arrived at the fraternity house the members were cleaning up from a party the night before in which freshman girls had wrestled each other in a mud pit. The fraternity members referred to these girls as “doormats” – good enough only to wipe their feet on – instead of using their names.

Throughout our visit, I was struck by the fact that the members of this fraternity seemed to be trying to one-up each other in their casual, inhumane treatment of women. It was a game to them. And the women in question? They were along for the ride. They didn’t seem to realize how quickly this game could turn treacherous – until it was too late.

I know that all college campuses and fraternities shouldn’t be painted with the same brush. But this incident at UVM shows that there is still a pervasive sense that playing with women’s lives is a game. Rape is not a game. Perhaps next time, the questionnaire should ask: “Whom would you like to break apart and destroy from the inside out?”

 

Redefining rape

For the first time in 84 years, the FBI has redefined rape.

The old definition: “The carnal knowledge of a female forcibly and against her will.”

The new definition: “Penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration of a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.”

For those of us who now officially “qualify” under the new definition, the impact is bittersweet.There is now a word for what I went through – I can now claim common company or fellowship. What it doesn’t change is the fact that for years after, I was plagued by nightmares, flashbacks and depression. Even now, I still go right back to that place when I read about an assault or see one reenacted on TV.

My first “rape” happened when I was 20 years old. My second “rape” happened when I was 22 years old. I’m now a 37-year-old mother of two, happily married to a kind and decent man. Despite the FBI’s reclassification of my experiences, I will never see justice for what happened to me. Instead I will carry it with me for the rest of my life. Most days, I don’t think about it. Some days, it’s all I can think about. 

I am a rape survivor. There are so many women (and men) out there who can say the same. We survive without justice, without retribution, without closure. Our only revenge is to pick up and move on – joining the living the best we can. What this new definition of an act that comes in myriad forms doesn’t change, is what every rape survivor knows, that it doesn’t matter what you call it.

Those of us who have been through it know what it is. It’s an act that strips you of all dignity, of all control, of all hope and takes you to a place that no one should ever have to go. It takes the most private part of yourself and shreds it, rips it apart and throws it in the gutter. If you are to survive you have no choice but to pick yourself up and painstakingly put yourself back together.  Someday, you will learn to accept, that through no fault of your own, you will never be whole again. 

 

The meaning of privacy

Former News of the World reporter Paul McMullan has turned the journalism world upside down with his defense of the questionable tactics he and others used to ferret out what he so boldly calls ” the truth.” My opinion as a journalist aside, his statements about privacy bring up some interesting questions when it comes to abuse survivors – from Jerry Sandusky’s victims, to my friend Gretl, to me.

“In twenty-one years of invading people’s privacy I’ve never actually come across anyone who’s been doing any good. Privacy is the space bad people need to do things in. Privacy is evil; it brings out the worst qualities in people. Privacy is for paedos; fundamentally, nobody else needs it,” said McMullan.

Privacy becomes the ultimate excuse to turn and look the other way. In fact, up until the 1970s our legal system used privacy as the excuse to  disregard domestic violence as a serious crime. That attitude still persists today. Less than half of the 50 states have mandatory arrest policies on the books when it comes to domestic violence. The other half leave the decision to arrest to the discretion of local police.

McMullan seems to believe in a world where there is no line between what is private and what’s not. While I believe there must be some boundaries, I also believe that he makes an important point about the fact that privacy can create a space for bad people to hide.

What happens behind closed doors becomes everyone’s business when privacy is just one more excuse for turning a blind eye to abuse.