Silencing
As I sit down to write, to put down in words the past events and experiences that shaped my present I hear a familiar noise.
Every time I peel back a new layer of my story I hear familiar words running through my mind and body, not running, yelling.
Old threats, old manipulation and traps. Old warnings. Enforcements of silence.
“Don’t you dare. Keep quiet. Or else”
“You know what will happen if you talk”
“No one would believe you anyway”
“You brought it on yourself”
And many more.
The fear wallops my body as I take out the paper and pen, make the coffee, preparing to write. The same fear that gripped my throat, trapping my voice all those years ago.
The tightness, unsteadiness, the doubt, the heat in my chest. The sharpness in my throat. The flashing of fear in my head. The need to run. The freeze that sets in.
Being groomed, conditioned and manipulated into staying silent from early childhood through to your 40s puts a grip on your voice, on your sense of freedom and on your ability to live beyond the words you’ve heard over the years.
Silence becomes safety. Talking is dangerous.
Hiding is safe. Being seen is dangerous.
Challenging these fears is layered with shame and guilt.
Questioning the truth behind those fears reaffirms them.
I can’t tell myself nothing will happen in a way that my body believes. When I dared speak, through words or actions, in the past I paid a heavy price.
When I showed my truth in the past it was challenged, doubted, rejected or ridiculed. Often weaponised against me.
I have the damage that was the cost of speaking up. I have the memories of the price I paid.
The voices, not mine but those of my previous abusers and their enablers, scream to me to stop writing, to stop talking, to stay silent.
But there is a way through.
Look to the present. Looking around me I see that I don’t live in any of those past environments any more. I have a home that’s private and safe. Secure.
I have people in my life who are friends, who support and care and never wish me harm.
I have independence. The belongings here, the furniture, the food in the cupboards, my loved pet, the clothes on my back as safe, mine and can’t be taken from me anymore.
I am safe
Staying in the moment is safe.
The fear is natural, understandable, human. Let it breathe. Just don’t let it control.
The why is my way through this fear, the why is how I silence or at least muffle those voices.
I am blessed and privileged to have the opportunity and freedom to write, to talk, to share. Many others who experienced that world aren’t in that position, many are no longer here.
I talk, write to help protect others. To shield them and separate them from the world I knew. To help show those who wish to safeguard the world I knew, so they can protect others.
I write to finally grant myself the voice that my abusers silenced for years.
I write to give others a voice. To show there is a way through. That hope can exist.
So, puting some Elton John in in the background. I stop avoiding, stop procrastinating and stop obeying those old voices. Pick up my pen and let the truth breathe.
Survivors voices should be louder than the words of our abusers.
But there is a way through.
Duality
How we view the world and the people in it depends on our internal filter. A filter constructed from our experiences and understanding, from the flow or otherwise of our nervous system, and from the surroundings we live in.
2 people viewing the same event will see and experience it in different ways. 2 people having the apparently same experience will view it in different ways. The impact will differ depending on many factors and on the internal lens.
Balance and duality and truth to me is the key.
2 things, and more, can be true at the same time.
A kind person can also be or have been cruel.
A place of danger can be seen as a place of safety.
A smile can hide cruel intentions.
A gift can be a trade.
Success can feel like failure.
Perceived failure can open the doors to opportunity.
A local hero can do terrible things
A villain can help people
Family can mean control
Control can lead to freedom
Inspirational people can cause harm
Freedom can be found in our chains
Masks deceive but also protect
A friend can also be a foe
People can do evil things yet be an angel to others
Hope can mislead as well as inspire
Harsh words can come from a place of kindness
Discomfort can be a cure
Tenderness can be painful
Life is full of duality and contradiction. Many truths can exist at the same time. It’s okay to feel confused. It’s okay to recognise the conflict within.
Beauty is often not where or what we once expected.
Community can be foundational and fractured.
The truth can feel fake.
Congratulations aren’t always based in appreciation.
Connection isn’t always belonging.
Hypocrisy and sincerity coexist.
Forgiveness is based in and shaped by blame.
Judgements reveal our own mirrors, stories deep within.
Our instincts are there to protect us. Even when balancing the scales of what we see with what we know, what we already know with what others suggest, trust those instincts and look to what they are trying to say.
How to find the balance.
Look within.
Sit with the uncertainty,
the hit of frustration and fear.
Challenge the initial doubt with evidence
and compassion.
Soothe the anger with forgiveness and empathy.
Find your own truth.
The truth that feels right, feels safe,
sets you free and does no harm.
Trust your instincts and release control.
Find humour in the complexity of life, of people. Remember duality exists within us all.
Forgive the contradictions and look to the truth.
Follow your truth as closely as you can, in words and actions, in the recognition and release of your thoughts and in the acceptance of your emotions.
Smile. It’s a crazy life, sometimes nothing makes sense and in that moment maybe that’s a good thing.
Uncomfortable
We are going to make you uncomfortable.
Our truth is going to shake your illusion.
Our words and our message are going to raise questions you don’t want to ask,
never mind answer.
Our vulnerability transforms to strength as you listen, read and understand.
Our rawness will surprise you.
And I’m no longer sorry.
Survivors can make people uneasy. Trigger a resistance based in discomfort and uncertainty.
That’s a good thing. Not something to run from as I always did. Scared of causing someone that itchy feeling, feeling guilty for unsettling them with my truth. Scared of the rejection in their eyes.
Conversations about difficult topics are vital to make this life safer for ourselves and others, in all the tomorrows.
Conversations about painful realities are vital for healing, to heal ourselves and to enable healing in others, in communities and society as a whole.
Avoiding the discomfort caused by being honest protects perpetrators and keeps survivors unreachable and unheard.
No more.
This is not about sympathy or pity. This is not about attention or acclaim. This is not about shocking or sensationalising. This is not about drama or storylines. This is not about reward or punishment.
This is truth.
How can others see the world we know unless we show them? How can people address the gaps in safeguarding and protection unless we tell them where they are? How can people accept the realities in others lives unless we address it?
So I’m going to make people uncomfortable and I’m learning to find peace in that reality.
I will act in truth and compassion, rawness with grace.
Lead them gently but deliberately through my world. Hiding nothing. Letting them feel and understand through that feeling. Painting a picture of something new to them, colourful and from the heart.
Our intention is not to shock for the sake of it. Our aim is not to create alarm with no solution.
Their discomfort at hearing and processing our truth is incomparable to the pain we endured.
Their discomfort at having comfy illusions challenged is incomparable to the shattering of safety we endured.
I feel that burn of shame, that piercing guilt as I reveal my truth. I sit with the doubt every time. The fear of past reception being repeated.
I feel bad for any pain or frustration I may cause the listener, the reader, the witness of my truth.
But I can’t let that stop me.
We are going to make you uncomfortable.
Balancing rawness and care, reality with duality.
Pain with purpose and fear with hope.
And I’m no longer sorry. Not in the way I once was.
4 Years
Convicted of a less serious offence”
“Cleared of more serious charges”
“Prostitution related offences”
“Is now a mentor and advocate….his six-week business course that he's been teaching fellow inmates, "Mr. Combs can reach so many more on the outside than he can on the inside."
“Transported male escorts, and”Jane” to participate in prostitution”
“He then apologized to all victims of domestic violence who may have witnessed the 2016 hotel security camera video depicting him attacking Ventura.”
“The rapper also said he couldn't disclose where they were or what they were doing, but that it was a "15-year-old's dream."
4 years, minus time served, less than 3 years to serve.
There are many reasons why survivors don’t speak up, don’t disclose and don’t pursue legal justice. There are many systems and structures within society that are designed to keep survivors quiet. There are many mazes put in the path of people seeking visibility or understanding.
The light sentence given to a music and business celebrity is just one of the many reasons. The ways in which he and others avoided accountability for so long is another reason. The victim blaming of those who came forward is another.
The people who knowingly transported myself and others to places of exploitation are not innocent.
The people who booked hotel rooms for child and adult abuse and exploitation to take place are not innocent.
The accomplices who targeted and initiated contact with victims and survivors, with the targets of the abusers, are not innocent.
The perpetrators of exploitation and coercion who used threat and intimidation at the request of others are not innocent.
The producers and sellers of pornograhy used to manipulate and trap survivors are not innocent.
The owners and managers of businesses, cafes and residential properties who knowingly offered their premises to be used by groomers and abusers are not innocent.
The people who supplied the drugs to numb the fear, to “help us sleep through the fun part” are not innocent.
The taxi drivers, the folk who gave lifts knowingly taking children and adults to be exploited and abused are not innocent.
The authorities and professionals who coerced or covered up are not innocent.
The staff in schools, health settings and offices who not only didn’t question the situation or evidence in front of them but who passed the buck due it being “too much” are not innocent.
The community members charged with serving and protecting the public and the vulnerable who knowingly swept it under the carpet and participated are not innocent.
The innocents are those who truly had no idea and who would have assisted if they only could have.
The innocents are the victims and the survivors.
The language used in the coverage and responses to this and many more news items about abuse and exploitation reinforces the notion of the blame belonging to the survivors. (wether it is about Saville, the protected Elite, Cosby, Epstein and Maxwell, several TV and social media personalities, government and business leaders, R.Kelly and countless others or conversations about the local well respected people accused of abuse, the local suspect who was always “so nice”)
The comments made by onlookers and readers question the validity of evidence, the behaviour of the survivors, the past experiences of the survivors, the reasons superimposed by uninvolved people to excuse the actions of the trusted perpetrators or to shame those looking on into never being the kind of person this happens to.
Prostitution used to describe exploitation and abuse. Invitations and accompanying used instead of forced or manipulated. Young women and young men used instead of children. Participants instead of targeted.
The shame is placed upon the survivors. I, and others, spin that coin of guilt and shame daily, always.
The responsibility and accountability for the abuse they endured, the grooming and exploitation they suffered and the pain, violence, manipulation they survived is placed firmly on the shoulders of the survivors.
The reasons for not treating the actions of the accomplices, the actions of those on the outer edges of grooming rings, the actions of those supporting and enabling abuse; are entangled with complicated wording, jargon and business speak, with excuses of times change, “its complicated, we can’t get them all, we have to focus on the vulnerable”.
All children are vulnerable.
All adults are at risk from exploitation and abuse.
4 years is an insult.
4 years is an avoidance.
4 years is a deflection.
I write this from a sense of pain, yes, but also from a place of realisation and awakening.
The people who knowingly facilitated and covered up the abuse and exploitation I and many others survived will not face legal consequences and even if they did it appears evident that their sentencing would be minimal.
The suppliers, transporters, funders and coordinators of the grooming that I and others experienced over decades will never see a court room and even if they did the coverage and comments would ensure the blame stuck to the survivors not the perpetrators.
The world I lived in for decades is hidden yet operates and thrives in plain sight. Disguised and normalised.
The severity of the actions it appears depends on the environment and current judgement rather than its impact.
This must change.
The Streets of…
“Let me take you by the hand..
And lead you through the streets of London
Show you something
to make you change your mind”
Lyrics from a well known song by Ralph McTell, released in 1969.
I wish the world I knew could be shown to those who don’t see it. That I could take them by the hand, lead them through the streets of not only cities but along the well trodden pavements in our small, sheltered, hidden away towns and villages. That I could take them on a tour of the haunted houses and camouflaged businesses that kept me trapped in the shadows for decades while people blindly wandered past.
For a while now there has been a repeating need running through my mind and my words: seeing the unseen. The need to remain hidden whilst crying out to be seen has always been there, in my early teens I started writing a book about a Shadow Man who was both a guide and a threat.
Where I’ve lived for most of my life is often portrayed by picturesque scenes of unspoiled countryside and Marple-esque market towns. Towns with low crimes rates, local bars and annual festivals where everyone knows everyone else. Quiet, sleepy towns and villages, miles away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, miles away from danger.
These are the streets I want to show you. Cobbled, circling, lined by family run businesses and filled with friendly chatter over a coffee or a trip to the park.
Neighbours blethering, local gossip and news being shared. Surprise when the big named shops move into town, nostalgia as established places close down or move on. Tourists welcomed and local heroes celebrated. A great place to bring up kids.
How do I paint you the truth?
Not to scare you, not to shock. Simply so you can see. If you could see through the mirage, the masks, the veil of nostalgia then you could protect the souls within. You’d see the actors backstage and realise it’s all a script, one we all follow, participants without realising.
A guided tour of horrors behind the curtains. Meeting characters along the way. Some good, kind, some not so much.
I’d introduce you to the real world that many live in, a world of fear, pain and numbness. A world ignored or unnoticed by most. Manipulation and exploitation just under the surface.
How direct should I be?
Shattering illusions can be risky but needed. Letting people see the dangers, showing them the red flags all around them, guiding them gently through a world unseen.
Children being groomed, adults too. Sexually exploited for the gain of esteemed and celebrated locals. Grooming rings operating unnoticed and unchallenged, in those picturesque towns and villages, in the schools, the cafes, chip shops and bars. The abuse of children, the abuse of adults trapped in these rings, webs, happening behind the doors we walk past every day.
The authority awareness and involvement, professionals participating whether aware or not. Every layer of community support complicit by ignorance of knowledge. No one asking any questions.
The links that happen the deeper into the web you fall, the links to bigger business and city life. The interlink of rings operating a few miles away, backed by bigger players but all based on the same systems. Systems of manipulation and control, of fear, terror, abuse and harm. Systems that reach the unseen victims as well as the unnoticed abusers.
Like the rivers that flow through these small towns, it all starts somewhere.
If I could take you by the hand,
would you come with me?
Powerhouse
Do I want to set the world on fire?
Not really, can you imagine the mess.
But I do want to shine a light.
Some of us use our position to do so, our knowledge and experience, certificates and status.
Some of us use our wisdom, insights and truth.
Some use the arts, creativity shaping our vision.
Some simply our presence.
Every one has a story, a truth to tell.
Moments of joy and moments of hell.
Everyone has their story, tales of times gone by
The who, the when, what and the Why
Stories shine a light on our lives, on the connections we forget are there. The shared human experience, the shared happiness and pain.
The losses, the gains, the mystery and answers. The heartfelt love, delight and hope, the feelings we all know and the future we are trying to shape.
The blending of voice, hope, passion and truth is the greatest powerhouse we have.
Combining experience and knowledge, pain and recovery, loss and healing, passion and purpose, in a shared vision can bring about the changes we dream of.
The why is the key.
The where and how are the tools.
The who is the magic.
So although our stories may not set the world on fire. Every one of them shines light and love where it’s needed.
Revolutions can be quiet. Just as powerful. More so sometimes. A talk, a conversation from the heart. A painting, drawings of your truth. Creativity reaching another’s soul. A debate, allowing space to speak. Presentations and courses, innovations, projects of hope.
Your voice matters
Your truth counts
To build our powerhouses of hope, truth, light and care we need to share, share our experiences, our thoughts, our fears. Find safe spaces where we can breathe. Build the paths to a brighter tomorrow for us all. Now and in the future.
We often shrink the power of voice, the power of our stories, our shared values and knowledge. Unsure of where it will lead. Taught to keep quiet, not rock the boat. To stay in the shadows and let others shine. To doubt the wisdom we all have within us.
But there’s another way.
Listen.
Involve.
Connect.
Claim your power. Work together. Support each other. Light each other’s hearts and the fires will grow. We are so much stronger together, a reality I couldn’t accept for a very long time. Being alone, an island with impenetrable walls, hiding and surviving seemed the only thing I could do. Now I have glimmers of hope, recognition of the power of truth. A voice. One of many.
The power we all possess isn’t something to be stifled, muffled or feared. Burning the systems, so they can be rebuilt in safety requires shining lights on the why, on the gaps, on the intentions and omissions. Calling out mistakes and asking how to fix the cracks. Giving each other the opportunity to make the difference, listening, integrating and learning. Using our experience and insight, our individual wisdom to raise the alarm.
Remember the why. Who are you reaching, what do you want, need to say? Look to your vision, not away from it. Doesn’t have to be complicated, mine and my connected voices are building pathways to truth, hope, visibility and understanding. To a safer world for those in the future, for the children and adults living their stories tomorrow.
Maybe that is the fire we all need.
Author - Sebastian Etienne