Content Warning: The following contains multiple mentions of sexual assault.
Justice Horn, a successful wrestler at Northern State University in Aberdeen, South Dakota, recently wrote about his experience of being sexually assaulted. Horn, an openly gay man from the Midwest, was raped by a friend of a teammate. The experience shattered him, sending him home broken.
Justice’s story underscores the reality that physical strength is not enough to prevent sexual assault. A wrestler’s strength did not protect him in his dorm room. Sexual assault is an equal-opportunity destroyer, regardless of whether the victim is male, female, or LGBTQ+.
In one of the churches I served, there was a school band director who preyed on teenage boys who had no father figure in the home. When I learned what he was doing, I attempted to work within the system to bring him to justice. That did not work.
There were a couple of reasons for this failure. Child Protective Services failed to take my request seriously—specifically my request to forward the report to the sheriff’s office rather than the local police. The school system also did nothing.
Sexual crimes against children and teens are often brushed aside, as they were in our community. To speak out requires a reserve of courage that is often stripped away by the trauma of rape. Consequently, culture and the courts frequently conspire—intentionally or not—to silence victims.
As a culture, we do not fully understand how profound the violation of sexual assault is or how deeply it crushes survivors from within. If that were not enough, there is often a power imbalance between the assailant and the victim, compounded by the social identity or authority of the violator.
Many children grow up victimized by a family member or a close friend whom their parents trust. When that happens, parents often default to disbelief. The child encounters refusal and denial, alongside a defense of the assailant—effectively abandoning the most vulnerable person in the situation.
In public schools, where teachers and administrators are in daily contact with students, documenting abuse and believing students over educators is often an uphill battle—especially when the faculty member has brought honor or prestige to the school.
I dealt with two teachers who abused students. One was a physical education and classroom teacher who was a voyeur in the girls’ dressing room. The other, as mentioned earlier, was the band director who preyed on young men.
The initial resistance was the same in both cases. I went to the principal about the voyeur, and he insisted the accusations were untrue. I countered by referencing a large file filled with complaints against the teacher. The principal stonewalled until I made the following statement:
“You can deal with this internally, or, if you do not, I will address it publicly on local cable television. Our church services are broadcast morning and evening, and I will name names—clearly describing what happened, who the teacher is, and who protected him instead of the students.”
We stared at each other, and then he said, “I will take care of it.” Trusting he would be true to his word, I left without another comment.
The situation with the other predator did not end as cleanly. The superintendent—who was also a deacon in our congregation—insisted nothing could be done unless students recounted their experiences to a room full of male trustees. I explained that such a demand guaranteed their silence.
With his permission, I conducted my own investigation. I uncovered a history of predatory sexual behavior that included the suicide of a junior high student. Before we could remove the band director from the community, one of the students he had abused took his own life.
Rape is that profound, that humiliating, that soul-scarring, and that shaming. For most victims, its impact is lifelong, even when appropriate care and support are available.
In my opinion, it is not enough to simply have resources available if there is no one actively helping victims access them. There is a murky cloud surrounding this entire issue, but the data is clear: suicide rates, suicidal ideation, and suicide attempts are significantly higher among survivors than among the general population. Depression and other mental health challenges often plague victims long after the assault.
Unfortunately, far fewer studies focus on men who have survived sexual assault.
As a society, we must be more open and supportive of survivors. We must also be far less tolerant of perpetrators who have been identified—both those who committed the abuse and those who knew about it and failed to report it.
- About the Author
- Latest Posts
A private practice counselor working with veterans and survivors of trauma. Previously, Chancellor served four churches in Texas for 33 years, then ran a Mental Health Department of Alan B. Polunsky Maximum Security prison which houses death row.
