Did I get your attention? That’s a start. By actually taking the time to read this piece, you’re taking the first step. I just finished watching the Netflix documentary, Jeffrey Epstein: Filthy Rich. It took a while because I knew it would be triggering so I waited to watch with a friend and made sure to do so during the daytime, while the sun was out, so it wouldn’t be too triggering. I’m not sure it helped minimize my trauma reaction, but it was helpful to be able to process it right away and help center our conversation on prevention rather than despair. I’ve assembled some reflections I have about the part individuals in society can play to prevent the next Jeffrey Epstein, Larry Nassar, Roy Den Hollander, mass shooter, or, maybe even, Donald J. Trump.
(1) To stop predation, we need to recognize its universal tactics
The sexual pyramid scheme that Epstein pulled off depended on a stream of vulnerable girls whose life is punctuated by financial distress and/or past sexual trauma and/or abuse that position Epstein and his offers as a “rescue,” or at the very least, an incrementally better alternative than what they already had. As Virginia Guiffre shared, these girls made the “perfect victim” due to their low self-esteem. Epstein interspersed the sex trafficking of his victims with ‘family’ activities such as diving, hiking, watching movies, and vacationing together (with Ghislaine Maxwell too) as a way to normalize the abuse. This is a common tactic that abusers use as well to groom victims into submission and self-surveillance: isolation, alternation of punishment and reward, induced debility or exhaustion — amongst other tactics described by Albert Biderman in his “Chart of Coercion.”
This kind of normalizing of abuse has also been happening over the last three and half years and employed as a tactic by Trump and his administration over every American. Every GOP member who still identifies and supports him and Republican voters who are still drinking his Kool-Aid are complicit in our collective abuse and psychological (sometimes literal — migrants at border, Black folks through mass incarceration, etc.) imprisonment. And, those of use who are not Republicans who call ourselves “woke” are also complicit. We do so by not connecting the dots between abuse of power in one realm and its cultural signaling of acceptance to abuse of power in another. So if you’re horrified by Epstein and his co-conspirators’ actions, ask yourself how you’ve contributed to normalizing the acceptance of abuse or abuse of power.
(2) Prioritize accountability above abusers’ or perpetrators’ trauma
Another thing we can all do to counter our complicity is start to prioritize accountability as an individual, societal, and policy goal. There is a disturbing trend in the domestic abuse sector where so-called “victims’ advocates” are supporting broad criminal justice reform and dangerous interventions like “restorative justice” that center the abuser and his past trauma instead of victims’ and survivors’ safety and well-being. This intervention is justified by ‘victims’ advocates’ who have been corporatized by the non-profit industrial complex and would rather protect their livelihoods than help survivors develop a consciousness around their abuse so they can genuinely make decisions that not just manage their abuse, but also, hopefully, free themselves from it.
In an interview with Steve Scully, a former Epstein employee on his private island, Scully shared his recognition that he rationalized his tenure with Epstein. Similarly, as victim Sarah Ransome describes, so did everyone else under Epstein’s employment. They were each culpable and contributed to a culture of abuse of power — from the pilots, landing guys, baggage person for his private plane, to the pool guy, chef, wait staff — everyone. Even though they weren’t directly recruiting the girls and/or raping them, by looking the other way as they personally continued to benefit, they were sending the consistent message to the victims that Epstein was invincible and above the law — that victims shouldn’t even bother to resist and surrender was their best option.
This is the kind of attitude that many victims’ advocates asking for ‘restorative justice” for domestic abuse survivors have themselves succumbed to — that the siloed, non-profit sector replete with social workers, attorneys, and other advocates can’t change the system, so let’s just reduce harm instead of prevent it from happening at all. They do so by saying (1) the criminal justice system is broken and hasn’t worked for abuse victims, (2) that survivors themselves don’t want to suffer the harm of abusers’ wrath when they are released from prison, and (3) that survivors would rather their partner not go to prison so they can help with supporting the family.
All of the above are legitimate concerns that could instead be addressed by centering gender equality and the elimination of gender bias— (1) police who don’t believe victims or worse yet, blame the victim, should be fired or held accountable and prosecutors who fail to proceed without victim testimony should be reassigned; (2) remove abusers instead of placing victims in shelters and keep abusers in jail; (3) eliminate the gender pay and wealth gap and pass the Equal Rights Amendment so we have a tool that offers both the carrot and the stick for enforcing gender equality.
(3) Stop peddling “redemption” as a possibility or goal
While many of us watching this documentary may not be considering “healing circles” with the Epsteins and Trumps of the world to be a realistic option, victims’ advocates have begun to suggest that “couples therapy” for perpetrators and victims to be an appropriate solution. In fact, they have justified these solutions by blaming the victim, or saying that they are responding to victims’ desires to stay with their abuser — giving agency to victims’ requests for control over their lives.
Do doctors offer free cartons of cigarettes to coronary patients who refuse to quit smoking? Then why is it okay for victims advocates to do the equivalent with survivors of domestic abuse? Part of the reason is only with male perpetrators of oppression and female victims — domestic abuse or gender terrorism as I’d like to call it — are the victims so unworthy of help that we justify slap on the hand solutions as a viable response. Do we tell victims of racial violence that the police officers who committed those crimes should sit in healing circles with them or offer jail as the best option? Why is it okay to offer these options to women then?
We need to relinquish our narrative of redemption which only seems to apply to abusive men but never Nazis or white supremacists or Trump or Epstein. I know that this might be hard for Christians and other folks whose ideology is rooted in the idea that people can be ‘saved,’ but this story we tell ourselves is choking us. If you want to put an end to sexism, sexual violence, sexist exploitation and oppression, we need to start replacing these stories with ones that show accountability is central, possible, and collectively demanded. It doesn’t matter if the predator, abuser, rapist has a history of abuse or is a victim of systemic racism or poverty.
From a societal perspective, we must accept that male supremacy and a mindset of sexism and misogyny is at the root of all violence against women. The perpetrator may have been a victim himself in the past, but abuse is a choice — not a mental illness. The abuser may also have mental illness, but that is not the cause of the choice for exerting domination, power, or violence over another. The only time an abuser’s history might be relevant is in informing and shaping interventions that prevent abuse and what we can do to teach children to model respect and collective care. It’s also important when we decide family court outcomes and in prioritizing child safety over abuser parenting rights so the children don’t grow up repeating the abuse or being vulnerable as a potential future victim.
Instead of worrying whether the person is capable of redemption, focus on how we can create protocols, structures, and systems that make prioritize accountability for the harm inflicted from abuse so that we can prevent it. Nothing else matters if there is no accountability, because the abuser will have no deterrent to behaving badly and the existence of law (coercive control, for example) or policy or cultural norms can play a key role in signaling to potential perpetrators that their bad behavior will not be tolerated and will be met with severe consequences.
(4) Forgiveness should not be a priority, unless it’s forgiveness of oneself
We also need to stop with the narrative of forgiveness. Do we ask Holocaust survivors to forgive their Nazi captors or Black folk to forgive KKK members who have lynched their relatives? Do we ask Black victims of police violence to forgive the actions of terrorist cops? Then stop asking women to believe their abusers should be forgiven and that that change should be anything near the top of what they should be focusing on, instead of their own safety, freedom, and well-being.
No mention of that word or concept should be uttered by anyone, other than the victim. There is no forgiveness without accountability and it’s okay for someone to not get accountability and choose not to forgive. It won’t eat at you like a poison pill as the old saying goes. No one is saying this equates to obsessing about vengeance or retaliation. You can hold both at the same time — not forgive your oppressor and still heal.
Of course, the messages we receive as victims of oppression, violence, and exploitation is that we are often to blame and could have done something differently to prevent the harm inflicted upon us. Holding on to those thoughts can be poisonous to our self-esteem, self-worth, and direct us to behavior that is self-punishing at worst, or coping at best. Only in those cases, should the discussion of “forgiveness” — of oneself — be central to one’s healing journey.
(5) Accept that the path towards healing is different for each of us
Which brings me to hate. What’s so bad about hate, as this insightful NYT article explains: There is a difference between those who hate out of bigotry, ignorance, and desire to exert power and domination over, and those who hate out of being oppressed, violated, and enslaved. As Andrew Sullivan so aptly points out, hate can be just as nuanced as the many varieties of love.
We need to reclaim our society’s admonishment of this natural emotion, especially when it is a byproduct of anger which comes out of experiencing deliberate harm. It’s okay to give yourself permission to feel hate and use it to drive positive change. Emotions in and of themselves are not bad — it’s what we do with them that may be.
I hate Kenneth Starr, Donald Trump, the GOP, injustice, inequality, and any efforts to hide, suppress, or erase acts of oppression and abuse of power that are exercised with the impunity, cruelty, and smugness that the current administration and its enablers and apologists engage in every minute of every day.
Yes, hate is the driving force for me to stay metaphorically awake rather than succumb to the easy slumber that accompanies denial or suppression of my feelings. It drives me to think, to act, and to collaborate with others to find solutions. It provides a healthy balance to the rage and hope and fierce determination I must call upon in order to spend the rest of my life to ensure that victims of abuse are offered the accountability we need to effectively prevent prospective perpetrators and predators from exerting their will and way on the rest of us.
(6) Give permission for tactics to be used that prioritize accountability and prevention of harm
One of these tactics is shame. In a 2016 paper titled “Shame closely tracks the threat of devaluation by others, even across cultures,” lead author Daniel Sznycer wrote:
Co-author, John Tooby, explains: “the shame system is designed to give others some vote in what behavior you end up choosing.” By this logic, shame can be used to harm — toxic shame — but it can also be used a force for social good.
In a recent group discussion, when I brought up shame as a tool to deter bad behavior — referring to domestic abusers and individuals who support sociopathic and predatory wannabe dictators — a fellow feminist suggested that the tactic was harmful and antithetical to social justice aims. She cited Brené Brown’s recent podcast episode on “Shame and Accountability.” After I listened to it, I was brimming with anger. Another encounter with someone with positive intentions, misapplying information that is not relevant to the conversation. I can count at least six logical fallacies from that argument after having listened to the episode. What’s more, Brené suggested that shame, if used on abusers who are released from jail, will take it upon their victims when they return home. By that logic, we shouldn’t have sexual harassment trainings in the work place because it will make badly behaving bosses take it out on their employees. Her explanation to not employ shame with abusers is actually social injustice masquering as social justice.
Psychotherapist Joseph Burgo even contrasts the shame Brown talks about in her work — “toxic shame” — with another kind of shame — “productive shame.” Brené Brown wasn’t referring to Nazis or human traffickers, or child rapists like Epstein when she asserted that shame shouldn’t be used to bring about social justice — she was referring to the casual racist who is motivated to do better. We aren’t expecting social justice for any of these miscreants I’m referring to— we are asking for accountability. Social justice can happen when we’re working on how to improve our prevention and education tools for schools and work. However, with reference to the domestic abusers, gender terrorists, and Epsteins of the world: once a predator — we need to start recognizing — always a predator. Different rules apply.
Shame may be an effective tool to move the casual racist from apathy towards action, but we are not talking about the casual anyone. We are referring to individuals whose behaviors are so corrupt, cruel, and deliberately harmful that humanity, the planet, and life itself is at stake. We are talking about predators like Epstein and Trump and yes, even our at home domestic abuser and coercive controller, whose eyes glimmer in delight when they see us suffer, squirm out of fear, or weep out of pain — and are metaphorically rubbing their hands in anticipation for the chance to witness and cause more harm — on a wider scale, deeper scope, and with greater impact.
Part of the reason the Epsteins of this world (and similar predation enterprises) persist for so long is because our society prioritizes the wrong things as sources of envy and emulation. We attach value to the superficial — like symbols of wealth and power and access to youth and beauty — and give willingly to people the unearned privileges this status bestows. Why not value integrity, kindness, compassion, and a drive for justice instead?
Use Social Stigma to Signal Societal Norms and Deter Bad Behavior
To combat the legacy of Nazism, the Germans instituted laws and policy to deter glorifying hatred and right-wing extremism.
We should have done the same thing with Confederate worship and southern cultural elevation after the Civil War. It’s shameful that Confederate flag-waving, monument-worshipping individuals aren’t ashamed of their behavior. Instead, we have overlooked these groups’ support for ideologies and monuments that represent oppression, hatred, and enslavement. By turning a blind eye to this false narrative, Southerners have come to view their Southern identity as a point of collective pride instead of collective shame and has led to a century of denial, lack of accountability, normalization of racist norms and behaviors, and lack of reparations for those who were and continue to be harmed.
Researchers in New Zealand found that “collective shame can be effective for Germans to confront their Nazi past, including a greater willingness to support a reparative model of shame rather than an avoidance model.” In addition, they found that “High levels of attachment or liking for national symbols resulted in lower willingness to confront a Nazi past.” Perhaps then, the solution is reinforcing a message that our national pride should come from celebrating our diversity and shared mutual history, rather than from elevating distorted narratives that communicate that our cultural fabric is monolithic. Let’s complement our history books with narratives of resilience and survival despite efforts at colonization, genocide, and racist oppression.
In describing how the pandemic has been a catalyst for exposing larger gender inequalities and those in our homes, feminist Jessica Valenti laments how we as a society have given up on holding fathers accountable for their share of childcare and household work. She argues:
The stakes are this high and much, much higher. How do we stop the next Jeffrey Epstein? Start by calling out inequity, abuse, or abuse of power whenever and wherever you witness it— even if you are the one engaging in it or benefiting from it. Stop engaging in the mental gymnastics of worrying about whether someone can and should do better, and begin to implement protocols and supporting policy that put accountability first so they will be deterred from engaging in harm to begin with. Instead of bemoaning how you wish Trump would have or could have handled the economy, immigration reform, pandemic, the environment differently, report what he is doing — name it — and offer suggestions on what we can do to stop him from doing badly.
And, let’s dispose of using “partisanship” or “politics” as an excuse to not name the collective brainwashing that embody his supporters. It’s not a “political” activity to call out Trump and his supporters — it’s a moral one. Let’s normalize accountability and start making it shameful to be a Trump supporter, a child molester, a domestic abuser, a gender terrorist, and an overall bad or evil person. Yes, at some point, your actions do and should define who you are. Give yourself permission to feel this way and use your anger and outrage to bring more equality and justice to end oppression. Yes we can and yes we should.
