The Worth of a Rapist

Trigger warning - this post is a wee heavy (and not the tasty kind). I will be speaking in detail about heinous crimes committed against humanity, living creatures, and myself. If you've got small kids looking over your shoulder or just don't really want to consider the worth of a rapist... perhaps you'd best skip this one.

For those of you who need to pass on this one, I think this image sums it up best without the trigger-potential.

Hurt people hurt people... damn that's deep.

Still with me? Thanks. This may not make sense, and it may well be messy, ineffective at communicating my meaning, and leave some of you even feeling betrayed. I am sorry.

This one has been a long time in coming - I've wrestled with how to integrate my belief that impact is VASTLY more significant than intent (critical race theory FTW!) and my fundamental belief that the goodness and worthy-ness (as opposed to worthiness) of people is grounded in intent more so than impact (in term of the inherent-ness of it all). There's some fascinating research that's been done on the morality of intent vs impact that I'll likely dig into here at some later date, but it's intensely messy. Then add to the mix recent research suggesting that patients suffering psychopathy are more likely to judge by intent than impact and allow for moral permissibly of unintentional harm. All of which is to say:

BOTH MATTER! I get this. I know this. I do not in any way accept rape as permissible in ANY circumstance. In the next few paragraphs, you may well 'hear' me say things that sound like acceptance/permissiveness/allowance/embrasure of abominable acts provided the intent was 'pure.' No. Hell no. Absolutely not. Nor do I believe an act is A-OK if the impact was minimal regardless of intent. I tend to thing that when Grace intends to poison Sally she is behaving immorally whether she 'succeeds' or not... and I tend to think that when she intends to give Sally sugar but accidentally gives her poison, she's not amoral perse, but I 100% believe that Sally is still dead at Grace's hand. Anyway... I'll not go into those circles - there are plenty of logical/moral wormholes coming, I'll try to stay limited to those.

Would you add these to your coffee?

Am I stalling? Is all of this pre-explaining/caveat-giving/disclaiming a way of delaying digging into what I really want to say today? Probably.

And that's okay. This is tough shit. Not as tough as the end of my marriage mind you (for it's own set of... problematic... reasons), but certainly more difficult to talk about. Okay, here we go.

Before I get into discussing the worth of my rapist, (no, not stalling here) I think it makes sense to give some context: The first time I was raped that I can recall I was almost three years old. My little sister was only a few months old and my ex-dad was sexually frustrated as ex-mom was having none of it. As I imagine it, he was incredibly horny, feeling out of control of his life, we were short (by his standards) on cash, his primary emotional outlet was missing and he was suffering. But he knew a way out of his pain. He'd found release before. He raped my mother when they were dating and I have reason to believe he'd molested several young people prior to my birth (when the foster daughters your parents host consistently end up institutionalized because they're making 'mad' claims that your father assaulted them... chances are slim that they're all out of their minds.) So while incest and the rape of a toddler is a bit of a jump... I don't imagine it was really as big of a stretch for him as one would hope. We were watching something on TV - I don't remember what as I was studying the exposed studs in the ceiling that were visible only as a result of a partial remodel of the basement.

The man was frequently bottomless around the house. After showers he'd look out the windows of the living room into the neighborhood, opening the blinds from the top down so only his head and shoulders were visible... but he was nude from the waist down. When I'd have friends over for sleepovers in later childhood, he was frequently without genital coverings, shielding himself with a 'closed' robe, a blanket, a towel, etc. So I didn't find it particularly odd when he unzipped his pants.

I have no idea how long after initial exposure he spoke to me, but I do remember his bringing my attention squarely to him. Veiling his crime as 'educational,' he told me that I had a child's genitals and needed to know what a man's were like so that, as I grew, I'd know was to expect. It was vital, he told me, for my own good that I know what I would look like. What I'd feel like. What I'd taste like. What I'd be able to do someday that I couldn't just yet with my feeble child-parts.

And then something strange happened. Something that wasn't supposed to, apparently. Something that meant I'd done something wrong. This strange thing his body did was my fault. I'd erred and was somehow dirty. But he still loved me and wouldn't shame me by telling anyone. But what I'd done was execrable... it was imperative, for my own sake, that I not tell anyone. In fact, it was better that I tell no one any of what had happened so they didn't even suspect that the badness I'd done eventually took place. Everything he'd done, suggested, was purely for my own illumination. But if others in my life knew about it, they might suspect that I'd... well... whatever it was I'd done to cause the reaction. I'd best keep quiet. He forgave me. All was well, let's cuddle.

*Quick aside while I vomit noisily. Not saying this for just for effect, but to share the impact on the author and, hopefully, yield some sense of permission to feel whatever you feel reading this. If anything*

I know. You might wonder how the hell I could possibly remember all of this. "It happened when you were two... are you sure?" Yep. Positive. There are enough verifiable details in the memory (that I've verified) to put my mind at east. And there's the transcript I have of his interview with the detective in which the following conversation took place:
Detective: "Did you ever sexually interact with Smye?"
Ex-dad: "Oh, is he claiming [details exactly what I remember] when he was a toddler? No, never."
Detective: "Um... all I said was sexually interact."
Ex-dad: "No, you totally said [details exactly what I remember, with a few other examples from later in childhood, one of which I don't remember]."
Detective: "No, I didn't."
Ex-dad: "I'm not saying another word until I have a lawyer. And yes you did."

No he didn't. I've read that transcript more times than was healthy. I've filed the records request and gotten a cassette of the audio. I've listened to it. From the initial "Hi, I'm Detective Man-face" to the slamming of the door and the "Holy hell... he did it." whispered by the detective before he turns off the recorder. And no, I never told ex-dad what I alleged in the original police report.

Still in doubt? There's always the fact that this was far from the only incident. Or the fact that, at 19 when I first made my report, my ex-parents attempted to blackmail me with the knowledge that I'd viewed porn as a 16-year-old (didn't work); that when I didn't back down a strange man with a knife showed up at my apartment at 2am and, after several minutes of frigid terror with the doors locked and barred I was escorted out of town by a sheriff (yep, I still have the police report on that one); the audio recordings of my uncle threatening to 'come handle' me if I didn't let it go. Or the letter from the county prosecutor stating that 'what you allege absolutely took place... but it's been so long and he's got such standing in the community that no jury in this county would convict him... I'm sorry... I can't waste county dollars;' or else there's the sister who completely backed up my story to the police, but then recanted when she realized, as she put it, 'if he goes to jail, we'll lose the house, our cars, everything.'

Sometimes I hate that prosecutor by the way. But I also know he's not wrong. The physically sexual abuse stopped against me when my second sister was born. Go figure. It actually fits with the 'standard' narrative of the rich, well-regarded, powerful pedophile/rapist/abuser. If it had gone to court and ex-dad had been found 'not guilty,' I'd never have gotten the protection order that now keeps my family safe. I'd never have been able to join the state's address confidentiality program. I'd never likely have the family, the life, the career, the joy (yes, joy) that I have now.

One sister is now in porn and has several arrests for heavy drugs to her name. The other... well... let's just say it got a bit more nefarious.

So. I think we can agree. Dude was fucked. Did a lot of evil things. Heinous things. Hateful, unspeakable, borderline unforgivable things.

And ex-dad has worth. As much as I want to caveat, to hedge, to dodge... ex-dad is inherently good by my view. Although I'm not there yet, I've got a LONG way to go... ex-dad is worthy of love, belonging, and respect.

What? Hear me out.

Human beings behave according to a set of logical algorithms toward the good. Never, I posit, does any human being act purely out of 'I think I'll do this because it is the worst thing.' Sure, someone may have the thought that 'what I'm doing is wrong' but do it anyway. But that person, in that moment, is acting for the good, at least on a limited enough timescale. Still not with me? Let's try a few word problems.

Imagine, if you will, a starveling child. This child knows the inherent wrongness of stealing. He or she sees a loaf of bread cooling on a windowsill. They are dying. Their little sibling is dying. They steal the bread. Sure, it's 'wrong' to steal, but really, they're meeting a basic need. And on the timescale of 'I eat or I die,' it could easily be argued that what they are doing is truly and fundamentally to the good.

Okay, that one's easy. Let's try another.

Same child. Same bread. But now they're stealing it from a family of undernourished incest victims. If they steal it, the entire family dies. If they don't, the one child and his/her younger sibling die. From a purely utilitarian - and some would  argue sociopathic - perspective, the 'right' thing to do would be for the starveling to accept her imminent death - the good of the many right? Or not. From the limited perspective of that child, the choice to steal the bread is obvious. And it is right. It is good. From the limited perspective of "I will die and my sibling will die unless I steal this bread," they're doing rightly. Bettering their world. Hell, if we shrink the timescale down far enough - if, let's say, they child and sibling would die without the bread within the hour whereas the family inside the house will last a day - to where the only hours that exist in all of reality are those between the decision point and the death/salvation of the child... then there can be no doubt that stealing the bread is for the greater good of the entire universe. It's a limited, admittedly inadequate perspective. But I don't think any of us would have a hard time arguing that it's all that a starveling has access to.

Okay, now let's take about 87,649 steps. Skip ahead to ex-dad. The biggest villain in my first-person life to date. The man who raped his son at the age of two. Who molested his daughters well into teenagerhood (I walked in on them a handful of times). Who did godknowswhat to godknowshowmany others. Let's examine him.

Again, a caveat - his actions were evil. Heinous. I believe he absolutely deserves whatever jailtime his crimes carry. Whatever punishment a theoretically just government dishes out. And he certainly deserves to be prevented from ever harming anyone again.

And he also has worth. And he also is inherently, on some level, Good. And although I cannot give it yet, he deserves love and compassion.

Let's begin. On the global timescale, with a holistic perspective, none of what he did can be viewed as 'towards the good' in any way, shape or form. I'll never attempt to argue that. But what about his core? His person? The thing I claim is good, has worth, and deserves love. Well... to the best of our ability (am I really about to say this?) let's put ourselves in his shoes on that day.

He's frustrated, he's suffering. Rape okay? NOPE! Still not okay.

He's out of control, he needs some semblance of power and balance in his life. He needs some release. Never, not remotely okay.

Now let's get temporal. Let's imagine shrinking all of existence down to that one moment in time. No, it's not fair. No it's not just. No it's not right. But for the sake of playing deity, of determining the inherent logic/goodness of his self, it's useful. Not to mention the fact that we've all been there. We've all engaged in some behavior that, on a big enough timescale, was wrong but in that moment was oh so right. As I wrote this, I, completely unhungry, grabbed a spoonful of creamy Jif, sprinkled it with raisens and chocolate chips, and shoved it down my gullet. Might I regret it later? Yep. But did it absolutely get me through writing this? So far anyway. And on the timescale of putting this post together, it was ABSOLUTELY the right choice. Okay, now the deep dive.

If all of reality, all of existence, boiled down to that one moment, what happened. He met a need he had. If there was no reality beyond that moment... before the 'reaction'... I had no knowledge whatsoever that what was happening was anything beyond what he claimed. I even perceived a semblance of love from him, that he'd be willing to 'prepare' me for adulthood. He found some sense of control, of balance, of power. His judgement was 'pure' if the only reality was that one split second. Does this in any way absolve him? No. He's a parent, an adult, a fucking human. He knew better, he should rot in jail for all of time.

But does he somewhere harbor a hurt, suffering self that was acting in it's own, truest, best interest, at least for that moment? Yes. And if Armageddon had come in that instant, would any harm have been objectively done to me? No, not really. And for that, and that alone, I argue that there is some measure of inherent good in him. That there was even then. It's ugly. It's perverse. It's Wrong with a capital W... but the calculus works. In that instant, that moment, that limited perspective, he was fundamentally acting towards the net good and betterment of existence itself. Granted, that existence, to his capacity to comprehend, consisted only of himself, his need, and that instant within that moment. And for that I can have some semblance of compassion. Some bit of grace. And no, this isn't just semantics or some attempt to 'salvage' the family I never had. To find some bit of self-worth in making my y-chromosome-giver somehow 'okay.' It's just my metaphysical humanist self coming out.

And yet... I hope he rots. I'm not quite so good as I want to be myself just yet. But I'm working on it. Will I ever defend the actions of a rapist? No. Never. I don't here. But will I always and forever defend the humanity and deservedness of every being? You betcha. But that doesn't prevent me from seeking justice, from striving to better this world, and from being pissed as hell when it doesn't go that way. Or from yearning for the day of his passing. Do I want to hurt him? No. But do I want him gone from this world - you betcha. I'll do nothing to hasten it, but I will absolutely feel a sense of (insanely complicated) relief and even pleasure when he's gone.

And all of that, is for the good.