Call it what it is!

Last Wednesday as I was settling into bed for the night, I scrolled through Facebook on my phone. Six books are on my nightstand, but I’m consistently drawn into the worm holes of social media when my brain should be shutting down for the day. The Idaho State Journal shared a link to a news story with the following post:

“A former Blackfoot High School girls’ soccer coach will serve at least one year in prison after she pleaded guilty to having a sexual relationship with an underage player. “  

I’m not numb to the content of the story, but I have to address the journalistic language. “[H]aving a sexual relationship”?  That word choice sure implies consent when the victim isn't of legal age to give it. How about “sexual misconduct"? Or "sexual abuse? Call it what it is!

Perhaps it's because my mother was a child protection worker or perhaps it's because I’ve grown up to be an intelligent and reasonable person who thinks any kind of sexual misconduct like this should be called out for being exactly what it is. Misconduct. Abuse. Rape. Taglines and phrases like "having a sexual relationship" or "the coach and student had an affair" infuriate me almost as much as the offense itself. 

I’m not a survivor of child sexual or physical abuse, but I endured a childhood overwhelmed by it. I was guilted into gratitude in checkout lines when I’d ask for a candy bar and the “no” was couched in a reminder of kids who had it worse. I hunkered down in the backseat of a state car one night when Mom was on call and needed to remove a toddler with second degree burns from his home. He was scalded with hot bath water for having “an accident.” I accompanied Mom on trips to transport siblings from foster homes to visit their biological parents, and I waited in hospital waiting rooms while rape kits were performed on children. I was never tall enough to reach the TV and was stuck watching grown up shows. I was stuck in a grown up show. 

One time while I was in college, I listened as mom beat herself up on the phone when a man who had been in her caseload years before called.  He called from many states away to ask where he could get help because he was starting to see himself engage in the same type of emotional and physical abuse with his own son that his biological father had with him. Through the course of the conversation, he also told her of sexual abuse during his adolescence from his foster and later adoptive father. After his real father had been so terribly physically abusive, the young man was understandably confused about boundaries and what a healthy love looks like, so he never told anyone. He hadn’t intended to share his story of sexual abuse that night, but that’s where their conversation went. Mom could scarcely summon words to help direct him while she replayed her unwitting interactions years ago with the abuser. He seemed like a nice man.

It doesn’t take a PhD in counseling or psychology to hear me talk about my window to child sexual abuse and watching it take its toll on my Mom to ask—do I hold such a disdain for predators and abuse for what they do to kids? Or for what they do to the adults (read: moms) trying to uncover, stop, prosecute, and counsel after the abuse? 

After I saw the ISJ’s posting Wednesday, commented on it, and shared the story on my own feed with commentary mirroring this, I got a message from a childhood friend thanking me for speaking out. My friend disclosed that they experienced sexual abuse as a child from an esteemed authority figure and, after years of silence, has only recently been able to experience healing.  When media accounts don’t call out sexual abuse for what it is, people like my friend feel victimized all over again.  When media accounts don’t call out sexual abuse for what it is, we risk becoming desensitized to the seriousness and prevalence of it. In cases like that of the ex-soccer coach, it’s also critical to use accurate language because it highlights that sexual predators aren’t just scary men lurking in dark alleys. They can be coaches, teachers, church leaders, relatives, people running for office… anyone of any gender. 

I’m going to keep asking (demanding) that the Idaho State Journal headlines, taglines and accounts of sexual crimes call them what they are. The first step in stopping sexual violence and abuse is recognizing it. We can’t do that until we call it what it is.