When Does Silence Become Complicity?

Twenty years ago I was sexually harassed by a professor. I don't mean being called baby or sweetie, sexually harassed. I mean abused. Molested.

I was naive, of course. Twenty years old. He was 45. He was brilliant, and he showed an interest in knowing me. I stupidly thought it was for my intellect. The first time it happened, we were in his office. I came by to discuss literature, but we didn't discuss literature. He closed the door and told me how each time he looked at me in class he'd get a hard-on. And, he said, all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck me. His words. Then he came over to me sitting on his office couch, sat on the arm beside me, and made me touch said erection.

I was disgusted. Mortified. Humiliated. Scared. Confused.

I made some excuse to leave soon thereafter. I, of course, didn't want to hurt his feelings.

This predator. This fucking abusive authority figure taking advantage of his position…and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

I wish I could say that was the only encounter. I won't go into any more detail.

I told a few friends, but I never told anyone at the University. I thought it wasn't worth ruining a man's career over, right? Destroying life as he knew it?

How many other girls were humiliated by him because I said nothing? Harassed and worse.

How many others?

Of course, had I told, it likely would've been me on display. Humiliated again. A respected professor's word against a stupid young girl.

Because that's all too often the way victims of abuse are treated in our society. The abuser, the predator, is protected and excused, and the victim of abuse is humiliated. Called a home wrecker. Career destroyer.

So we keep quiet and try to move on. In doing so we devalue ourselves and empower, not to mention, protect the abuser. So he is free to continue said abuse with countless others.

Tell me, when does our silence become complicity?

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: Abuse