People over Problems: Breaking the Cycle of Sexual Violence

How can we address the high rates of sexual violence against women (and some men) in the United States?

Like the painter who realizes too late that he has painted himself into a corner, I have come to realize this epidemic has been going on for a very long time. Additionally, it is consistent with statistics from other Western nations. 

In other words, we have learned to live with it, which is a tragic indictment. We are willing to live with a level of sexual violence and adjust our lives accordingly.

However, this morning, I was mindlessly watching a YouTube video of the 10 most joyful auditions on Britain’s Got Talent. Within that montage, something became clear.

On stage was an interpreter with a small child in a walker who suffered from a crippling childhood disease that had robbed him of mobility, muscle coordination and speech. The interpreter was young, proficient in sign language, and was later joined by an army of children, some of whom were atypical in various ways. 

Each wore a T-shirt reading, “This Is Me.” These children were exceptional.

That was followed by an African man with a dance troupe of young children in his care, who delivered an astonishing performance. As I understood it, they were children from impoverished communities.

Herein is the core issue. We have minimized that which damages our humanity. This diminishment is pervasive worldwide.

We are, fundamentally, a corrosive society that often takes better care of automobiles and pets than we do of the humans around us. Living in a “broken” world can only justify so much. Every day, we face a choice—within our homes, our families, our communities, and beyond.

Simply put, we either perpetuate brokenness or we take hold of our power to heal and bless.

People, young and old, show up in our small worlds as they are. They may not wear a shirt that proclaims, “This Is Me,” but nonetheless, the truth of who they are remains.

Based on my experience in pastoral, prison and private therapeutic settings, I reflected on how we diminish others’ humanity.

First, I believe the path forward in lowering the incidence of sexual violence in the United States begins in homes where adults value everyone within and outside the family. Training children in the way they grow up always starts in the home, through both teaching and example.

The womb can protect only so long. Once a child is born, that child must be nurtured in an atmosphere of safety and love.

The final years of my counseling practice were mainly devoted to healing the wounds of childhood that adults carry into their lives. Emotional disconnection, abuse and violence consistently set in motion struggles with human behavior and emotional health. It is within this cauldron that the stage for sexual violence is set. 

Some research indicates that personality disorders often have their origins in traumatic childhoods.

The DSM-5 groups personality disorders into clusters. Cluster B is widely regarded as the most toxic, with borderline, antisocial, histrionic, and narcissistic personality disorders sharing similarities and distinctions. 

Research suggests child abuse is more than four times as likely to result in adult personality disorders. While such research is robust, it is not predictive.

Research also indicates that revictimization is more likely to occur during adolescence or later in life. The bottom line is simple: more must be done to help parents create healthy homes.

Second, we must revisit how we have institutionalized systems that demean, diminish, and disregard personhood—particularly within our justice systems. My experience working in a prison setting lasted just under six years. In Texas, it was routine in our 3,000-person facility to encounter offenders who did not belong in prison but were sent there because it was easier, though not cheaper.

Texas placed prisons in remote locations, where individuals were disrespected, forgotten, and crushed under the weight of isolation, abuse from other offenders and mistreatment by some security officers. Only in a pre-release private prison, where I provided mental health services, did I see glimmers of respect.

In truth, I came to believe the prevailing philosophy of Texas prisons was punishment, disrespect and, at times, humiliation.

In one moment that remains etched in my memory, a security officer reprimanded me for addressing each offender as “sir.” He spat out venomously, “They don’t deserve respect. That’s why they’re here.”

I did not change how I addressed offenders.

“This Is Me” requires us to saturate our institutions—whether judicial, criminal or social—with a focused understanding that the person who stands before us in any situation is a person. In my faith tradition, that person is also “made in God’s image, for whom Christ died.”

The “This Is Me” shirt should not be worn only by children on a stage. It should be the invisible garment we recognize on the offender in a cell, the spouse in our kitchen and the stranger on the street.

When we learn to see the person before the problem, the cycle of violence begins to lose its grip.