Open secrets in closed societies: silencing the discourse on child sexual abuse
I was made to sign a letter stating I will not deal with the topic of child sexual abuse in my classes again, writes academic Dr VISHANTHIE SEWPAUL, Professor at the School of Applied Human Sciences at the University of KwaZulu-Natal.
“AS STUDENTS we know that sexual abuse is happening in families, but the police and the authorities deny it.”
This was one of several declarations about child sexual abuse (CSA) among students, at a tertiary institution in the United Arab Emirates, that I began teaching at in January 2016.
On considering taking up a professorship position in the Arab world, I was aware of the conservatism that exists. But within a short time of arriving there, I was struck by the sheer intensity and pervasiveness of the top-down authoritarianism, the overt manifestations of gender discrimination, and the lack of academic freedom and freedom of speech, in a world where males are the authorised holders of power and control.
It is against this background that I was teaching two courses in one semester: one on professional ethics and the other on interventions with children.
We dealt with a range of social issues, including human trafficking, child abuse, bullying, drug abuse, workers’ rights, environmental justice and HIV/Aids that, of necessity, related to the socio-economic, political and cultural context of the country, against the backdrop of a rapidly and intensely globalising world.
To do anything less would have been to de-contextualise teaching and learning and render the courses worthless.
A student, Asma Ghaith*, from my professional ethics class, told me that when she was at school she had a friend who was being sexually abused. She talked to a teacher about it and was told to remain quiet. Asma was subsequently summoned to the principal’s office and was made to sign a declaration of silence.
However, she surreptitiously talked to 100 girls at the school of which 87 admitted to being sexually abused. This might have been a self-selected sample, with rudimentary research, but 87% is telling! As an insider, Asma was strategically placed to obtain hard-to-reach information.
As part of a community engagement project, students in my interventions with children class produced two brilliant movies – one on CSA and the other on children being taken care of by nannies, which they identified as needing urgent attention. Their passion and enthusiasm knew no bounds. We talked about the possibility of having their productions – if the productions were good – entered for the film festival. Students can make invaluable contributions to raising awareness about salient topics through popular media and film, and to supporting national, regional and international development initiatives.
The group of six students that dealt with CSA presented their video on November 15, 2016, when I saw it for the first time. The video challenged the myth of stranger danger, which I addressed in my last opinion piece February 14-18, 2018). The video began with the chilling words in bold typescript: “but I loved you, daddy”, followed by a role play scene depicting abuse.
They highlighted that it is the home – a presumed space of safety, love, warmth and care – that can constitute the biggest threat to the child’s right to dignity, safety and the right to grow into a healthy adult.
Asma was included in the video. She discussed her findings at school and expressed her concerns about the hidden nature of CSA and its deleterious consequences.
The video contained a poem, written by a student involved in the production. The poem was poignant (captured in print, with voice-over and music) that spoke to the deep trauma that sexual abuse leaves one with, even after the demise of the perpetrator.
In response to my reflection: “It is brilliant, how does one gain such insight into something like this?” One student, Jase** responded with: “Because it happened to me.”
After a momentary surprised silence, I responded by framing her disclosure as an act of courage and strength. I spoke to the class about confidentiality and got an undertaking from the 12 students in class, that what was said in class will remain in the class. In response to my enquiry about whether she was receiving any help, Jase said she was in counselling. Given my extensive professional experience with CSA, I understand the healing power of each disclosure, so I was pleased that Jase experienced the classroom as a safe space to disclose.
On November 21, 2016, the group that did the project on children being cared for by nannies screened their movie – another exceptionally well executed task. Jase was in class. She sat in her usual place in front, and contributed to the discussions in her typical friendly and engaging way.
On November 27, 2016, I was called to a meeting to be informed that Jase reported feeling distressed after the disclosure. As expected, Jase informed her counsellor about her class disclosure, which was then reported to the chief academic officer.
I spoke to this counsellor, who instead of affirming and celebrating Jase, criminalised her disclosure and made her feel a victim. She gave me a lengthy lecture on how the disclosure would ruin Jase’s chances of getting married and claimed that I was bringing local families into disrepute.
At the meeting I was made to sign a letter, with a condition that: “I will not deal with the topic of child sexual abuse in my classes again.”
I explained my obligations in respect of the UAE Child Rights Law (2016), but the condition remained non-negotiable. The assertion was that I was dishonouring families and the culture (all in the faculty were earlier required to sign a memo, declaring that we will not teach anything that might be against, commonly read to mean in relation to the culture, of the country!), and I was instructed not to see that class again.
Given the warnings that I received from students, friends and colleagues, and having witnessed colleagues who had been summarily dismissed, I signed, knowing that I would resign.
Social work is a human rights profession, which carries ethical obligations to work against all forms of discrimination and oppression, and to protect children and promote their best interests.
In being coerced to sign the document, I was being asked to become complicit in silencing the discourse on CSA, which makes children bear the scars of abuse alone.
The secrecy allows perpetrators to continue, unabated, their perverse and predatory behaviours. If we do not talk about it, it does not exist, and if it does not exist the perpetrator cannot be caught.
If caught, the issue is quashed within the family; the perpetrator faces no prosecution and, as females are supposed to be the guardians of male sexuality, they might actually be blamed and punished.
My experience was not unique.
It resonates with that of Asma who was silenced. And one cannot help but remember the experiences of others, such as Nawal El Saadawi, a feisty Egyptian feminist psychiatrist who experienced censorship, imprisonment, death threats and exile all because she dared to publicly articulate the open secrets of a society that shared a distorted sense of family honour.
I salute the students for their courage. Tertiary institutions can so powerfully be part of the solution, rather than silence academics and students who want to make a difference.