Reunion Online

For several days, one sentence has continued to trouble me: "I'll never forgive you." Those words were spoken by the man identified only as Victim 4 at the Jerry Sandusky sentencing on October 9, 2012. His words say several things to me.

Men who were abused as boys were abused by individuals, not by a caricature. I find it disheartening that some have suggested we have to work hard to protect our children from other "Sanduskys."

In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the phrase "the personal is political" became the mantra of the women’s movement.

After The LA Times reported that between 1965 and 1985 The Boys Scouts of America took very little or no action about suspected child sexual abuse, it announced it would review 5,000 cases spanning the past fifty years. The Times investigation found that Scouts’ officials did not report to police hundreds of cases of alleged sexual abuse and that as many as 1,662 male child victims were impacted. This scandal will continue to make headlines as hundreds of files are released from the BSA’s own collection of cases known as "perversion files."

Throughout history, we have watched visionaries change the world. Eli Whitney. Henry Ford. Steve Jobs. Not only did these people isolate a need, but they also found the right way to communicate how their innovation would benefit the world.

 Hope is essential to life, especially for those who are forced (or choose) to deal with painful experiences from our past. By biblical (and practical) definition, hope is only possibly when we have not yet obtained that which we are hoping for. "Hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance" (Romans 8:24-25). To endure painful circumstances we must develop a vision of a brighter future, one that is free of our current pain and hardship.

We’ve all been reminded this week of the solace we found eleven years ago in the communal sense of shock and the shared resolve to heal from the horrible losses we experienced on September 11. No doubt, scars still remain. But together, we faced down our fear, we shored one another up against our new-found sense of vulnerability and shook off the stunning betrayal of our belief that we were safe from attack.

 I don't know how he got my telephone number and he never told me his name. As soon as I identified myself, he blurted: "Why should a man tell anyone about his abuse?"

"He doesn't need to tell anyone. He can keep it a secret until he dies," I said.

"But talking is just talking—just mere words."

Certain he was referring to himself, I asked, "Have you ever told anyone?"

After a long silence, he mumbled, "No."

I remember the interview like it was yesterday. The year was 1984, and I was a oh-so-young, oh-so-green social work student conducting an interview with a veteran gay activist at our local GLBTQ center. (Mind you, many of those letters weren’t spoken of back then). I was 24 years-old, straight-define, and I literally quivered with nervousness at being, for the first time in my life, in queer-defined space. My purpose of the meeting—to research the history and advocacy of the centre for my studies in community development—belied my internal emotional state.

One of the challenges organizations working with men who have been sexually abused in childhood face, is to find helpful ways to enhance public awareness, discussion and support around this issue. 1in6 and Living Well hope that the "Let’s Talk..." Poster/Visual Media Competition will help broaden the public conversation on this issue in new and interesting ways.