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In 1970 I ended up in jail in St. Louis. I spent the late sixties running away from my neglectful mom, then my abusive dad. When the police raided my last, sordid crash pad and found felony narcotics—speed, acid, pills, pot—I was abandoned as incorrigible, an IV drug user. I was 14 years old.
In Missouri at that time, there were last gasp facilities for the hopeless, impaired, and violent. Not rehabilitative, they were way-stations where boys eight to 18 awaited sentencing to the infamous Boonville correctional facility. A place with a surreal tolerance of violence, later called, when investigations closed it forever, the “most hellish forty acres in America.”
I was there for almost seven weeks. Two weeks before my hearing I was placed for five days in a special cell with three violent, depraved boys.
During my five days, I was raped repeatedly, tortured and humiliated, and made to participate in my own degradation.
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When it comes to rape, boys don’t tell. It was even truer then, but remains the standard, in and out of facilities. Those older boys and the corrupt staff who protected them depended on our shame and silence. Several guards colluded, the rest were indifferent to what happened to us, the youngest, weakest, and prettiest boys.
I am 61. It took me 44 years to speak of it, first to my wife, then a few friends, then regularly to a therapist who learned alongside me how one sorts out severe, long-suppressed trauma.
Last year I spent four days at a Garrison Institute workshop with the acknowledged modern expert on trauma, Bessel van der Kolk. He brought theater and music therapists, too, and the event was a turning point for me. There were a couple of dozen survivors, but most of the attendees were clinicians, specialists in trauma. I was the only male survivor, as far as I know. We met as equals and brave seekers.
A few months later I spent a long day at New York State’s first-ever workshop/conference on male sexual trauma, and again about one-fourth of the 120 attendees were survivors, but three of the four workshop leaders were survivors, too. I was finally in the presence of men like me, men who stood up and were broken, visible, and true. Most had been molested, but several had experienced terrible violence, like me. It was as if I could breathe with my entire lungs, at last. I was not alone.
This is not an essay with lurid details. It is important to understand, however, what severe means for boys and men in lock-up, or anywhere if you are to understand what we overcome, and how traditional definitions of wholeness and closure do not apply. (We engage in healing behavior; we are not healed, ever.) During my five days, I was raped repeatedly, tortured and humiliated, and made to participate in my own degradation. After begging for rescue on the third day, I fought back that evening, thinking help was on the way. It was not, and things became more violent. I required corrective surgery, including a partial anusectomy.
Boys and men assaulted in facilities do not “deserve it.” They are not getting rough justice; it’s rape, and a civilized society would not allow it.
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Men don’t tell. I buried it, but had no hidden self, and I never forgot. I tried my best to follow everyone’s advice and “let it go.” There was no context of PTSD or rape victim’s rights in 1970. Decade after decade I became a skilled actor, convincing myself I was okay. I raised my first daughter alone, then remarried and had two more daughters. I succeeded in life up to a point, with career and home. All three of my daughters are ferociously funny, successful, smart, and strong.
My late-in-life deterioration was typical, I’ve learned. I could not maintain my stoic, heroic self-identity forever because it was built on a lie. I was “great dad” when they were young, but a frantic, anxious, withdrawn father when they reached adolescence, the age I was when things went so wrong. I struggled to not continue the cycle of abuse, and succeeded, but barely.
There are myths and assumptions about men who have been abused. Most, contrary to Hollywood and television stories, do not become offenders themselves, but we live in terror that we will, are secretly evil, dangerous, and prone to terrible error against loved ones. We internalize it, eat ourselves up with obsessive self-correction, or long hours of work, or compulsive self-sacrifice. We turn to drink and drugs, eat too much, and die early, just like our female counterparts who were abused and raped.men
There is another misconception, about incarcerated men and boys, in particular, a vile and pernicious one. I hear it among left- and right-wing friends equally, and in almost every movie and program. It goes like this: bad guy gets caught, at last; good guy makes a joke how Bubba in the bad guy’s cell will make him his bitch. For some of us, this throwaway remark is a horror. Boys and men assaulted in facilities do not deserve it. They are not getting rough justice; it’s rape, and a civilized society would not allow it. The victims of rape in jail are the weak, defenseless, and young. Remember this whenever you hear this so-called joke. Remember this when you blithely wish rape on a convicted rapist. Would you permit an extrajudicial system of violent assault against the weak, just so it might at times add extra punishment to a bad man?
Our culture refuses to “pamper” those in prison. We remain a Puritan, punitive culture, that thinks they get what they deserve. We have barely begun to address what is aptly called rape culture for women generally; men and women in facilities are ignored.
Centuries from now this era will be known primarily for our tolerance of rape. The PREA Act was passed in 2003 to address sexual assault in jails and prisons, but the number of reported rapes has risen every year nonetheless, and estimates suggest the actual number, given the lack of oversight in private prisons, to be as many as 200,000 per year. Besides the 70,000 children in government facilities, and up to 100,000 in private facilities of different kinds, there are as many as 10,000 children in adult lockup on any given day. Remember them. The most conservative estimate is that 15,000 children—one every 35 minutes—are raped and assaulted each year in all these facilities. The reported, confirmed number is under 1,200. Boys don’t tell.
Men don’t tell. It took me 44 years. I blurt now, am inappropriate at times—when and where, exactly, is the right time and place to tell what happened? People look away, don’t know what to say. But I will never be silent again. After I was moved to a different cell, I saw the boy who came after me out in the yard, in the day room. He was 10, at most, and destroyed, like me. I could not protect myself or him or any of them; how could I, in that place, at 14? But rape lasts forever, and I will always believe I should have died trying.
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Photo: Original art courtesy of author / Getty Images (top)
My rapes came between 1967 and 1969 aboard an aircraft carrier in Vietnam. At 66 and on my third marriage I finally began to deal with my real self. The VA counseling has given me some tools to deal with my dark place, the meds help me sleep, but the night terrors yet visit.
Your comment resonates with me, Larry. I am glad you are getting meaningful responses from the VA. And I understand those night terrors. We are on our own, when the light goes out.
The situation you describe in such simple, direct terms goes to the heart of a condition I think is worldwide. That it is so common in this country, even today, is yet another indictment of a country gone haywire. Our seemingly implacable heritage of Puritanism coupled with an equally stubborn macho ethic has led to countless tragedies, from wars involving millions to lonely suicides. I know you’ve struggled mightily with your childhood’s horrors; I can’t help believing, despite it all, that writing about the experience will at least offer others a chance to find a way to confront their demons… Read more »
Thanks, Jeremiah. I urgently want to share what I’ve learned. And yes, our macho ethos brutalizes more than it empowers
I am also a victim of male rape. I was 4 years old when this happened to me and a neighbor friend of mine. We were abducted by a man working on the BNSF railroad line. I still recall the even just like a few minutes ago. I am 53 years old and it took some time to heal and years of counseling to get through. When I did try to tell my parents years later they blamed me for it. I struggled with depression ,anxiety and suicidal thoughts growing up. I know that I struggled was because I didn’t… Read more »
Thank you for this brave comment, and for the work you do counseling others, Hosea. I am sorry you had such a terrible experience, and at such a young age. At the NYS event I attended, some older, wiser men, survivors themselves, helped me to understand: it’s not a “race to the bottom.” IOW, our individual experiences are traumatic, and while we might see different outcomes for more violent experiences, it is the same bloody floor, the same dark “bottom of the well” for each of us. We were betrayed by the people who should have kept us safe, or… Read more »
I’m sorry you went through that. But I am glad that you are speaking up about it.
Stay strong brother.
Thanks, Danny. It has taken me a long time to see other men as my brothers. But I do, now.
This hit me right in the gut. I have two small boys and what you experienced is my biggest fear for them. Thank you for shedding light on this issue.
Thank you, Gail. May your sons always be wise, strong, and safe.
This is one of those rare stories that is actually important. Because as members of the greater human family, this story of horror, bravery and rebirth is connected in some way or another to every single one of us. This isn’t about what happened to one man. This is about the way we treat each other as human beings and what happens when that goes wrong. It’s about the ripple effect of abuse. It’s about attitudes, shame and sorrow. It’s not an easy story to read. But it’s a necessary story to read.
Thank you, Roger. The tragedy is how universal this is, to be sure. Every state and municipality, all around us, every day, stories untold. It is a small fraction of the total number of sexual assaults, against women mostly, and each is a personal, terrible, permanent distortion of a life. How can we be so indifferent?
Greg, your courage and clarity buoy me and challenge me to stand with you in this work you have undertaken. Count on me to support you with love and gratefulness for who you are.
Thanks, Dan. Clarity is good; hearings and independent articles about what goes on is the desired result, so we see real, lasting change
Wow. What a powerfully brave and important story. I scarcely know what words to use to express my sorrow that this happened, and also to express my admiration to you for all you’ve done and are doing to try to heal and to bring awareness to these horrible crimes.
Thank you, Kimberly. It seems too little, too late some days. And it is a himalaya of indifference and resistance, when it comes to compassion for those incarcerated, for any reason and at any age.
Greg, thank you so much for telling this story. It needs to be told over and over in as many ways as possible. I’m so sorry you’ve suffered this kind of violence in your life, and am so grateful that you survived to let us know about it. You are changing the world through your truth.
Thank you, Nan. I think real, lasting change only comes from many voices. I wonder if aging survivors will decide they have little to lose by coming forward. I hope so.
Utterly and ferociously brave and honest. Would that it might make a difference.
Thanks, Nikki. There are dozens, maybe hundreds of voices yet to be heard from those facilities. I hope this opens the door.
I applaud your bravery, your writing, and the journey you are taking to engage in healing for yourself and others. Since I began reading your stories some years ago, I have been aware of the off-hand “prison rape” comments that show up, even as jokes, and I neither laugh nor accept such inhumanity. Thank you for that. It is a small step, but one on the road we all need to take, to encourage healing for you and others who are not yet so brave.
Thank you, Diana. Every movement towards lovingkindness, is tikkun olam, healing the world.
I’m sorry that happened. I’ve spoken with a few survivors and a few can’t even bring themselves to use the R word. A woman once commented that she could write it as many times as she wanted, but when she tried to say it, she would just get weak. Very brave to be even able to say. There are many male survivors I’ve spoken with who’ve dealt with it the same way. Trying to forget or many times in the case of men raped by women, convincing themselves that is was something else just an unpleasant experience. Who would they… Read more »
Thank you, John. I find myself stumbling on the word rape, correcting myself when I say assault first. It is a scarlet letter, even among liberal men. I lost my best friend a few years ago, when I opened up about it. A professional executive, and liberal cut me, off, saying in effect I should not ruin my reputation. Culture norms trump politics, it seems. I was not male enough for him, even at 14, even in those circumstances. I am afraid I have the same self-criticism, too, as irrational as it is.
I have the same issue. Mine was when I was 10 by a camp director. Any of the words one might use turn to cold snot in my mouth and none of them seem to fit the event… too technical, too simple, never with the resonance of the stain I feel in them… How do you communicate something like that to another who has not experienced it? It’s better after years of therapy… but not perfect.