Rishi Verma recalls his childhood trauma of being raped by a family relative and the blame and shame he was put through. Here, he writes that at any age, rape is rape and it is never a child’s fault.
Some of us remember Tobu Cycles and Campa Cola from our childhood. Memories of Mario and Contra bring gentle smiles on the faces of some. Others, from a different generation remember cleaner, less crowded roads. Even playing Cricket on the streets during a nationwide bandh. Some are still around who remember getting on a train full of corpses during the partition.
And then there are those for whom a passing mention of the word childhood opens the gates to demons from the past; to memories of being punished in a locked bathroom; to blows that tore open their lips; to recollections of an adult’s forced weight on their frail bodies.
I wish I could use a more politically correct term: abuse, molestation, sex-without-consent. But I cannot. I cannot get myself to utter those words, created merely to cover up the horror and trauma that children all over the country, nay, the world face everyday. Regardless of your age at the time of your rape, it is rape. Not abuse, forced sex or molestation. It’s rape.
Some of you may get uncomfortable as you read the repeated mention of the word rape in this article. And I want you to know that there’s nothing wrong in feeling that way. What is wrong, is to not feel deeply sickened; to not feel the pain; to open the next tab on your browser and forget instantly all that you read just now.
Unfortunately, that is the reaction of most parents in the country today. How do I know? From the experience of having gone to my own parents after my rape. And what did I get? A stony silence and looks of deep embarrassment. Perhaps, I could have settled for those. Perhaps I would have lived with the silence, thinking that the guilt sealed my parents’ lips. But no. There were statements, judgements to come my way soon. “You must’ve imagined that!” There were also other comments to brush the uncomfortable topic off. “It’s okay. It happens.” “Forget about it.” “You mustn’t tell anyone about it.” Defenses for a relative, and against their own son. Reactions that left me only utterly puzzled. There was no space for anger there. No room for detesting anyone. Just a deep, dark fog of confusion. But nothing seeped into my being quite like the devastating statement: “It must be your fault. You must have done something wrong.”
“But how could it have been my fault? How could it have been any child’s fault to go and get raped by an adult?” – Rishi Verma
You must have done something wrong. I don’t have the figures to justify it, but I do believe most victims of rape in childhood grow up to believe that it was their fault. I know I did. And I know enough and more other adults who did, too. Two and a half decades later, there are times when the sledgehammer of ‘my own fault’ still falls on my head unexpectedly now and then.
But how could it have been my fault? How could it have been any child’s fault to go and get raped by an adult? By an adult that you knew well and trusted. By an adult who only wanted to tickle you for fun, but proceeded to touch your penis instead. By an adult who wanted to brush off the mud stains from your shirt and decided to shower with you, instead. By an adult, who promised you a little secret and put his fingers and penis inside your anus. How could it be any child’s fault?
But with a ‘culture’ that teaches us only to respect adults, how does one expect more? In a philosophy where children are no more than goats to be herded and constantly told what to do, without once thinking of them as people, what more does one expect?
Can we not respect our children? Have we lost the ability to treat them as human beings? Can we not give them the freedom they deserve?
Once, in a conversation just like this, a very good friend asked me, “You talk about all these things, but when you have a child and they’re about to touch the flame of a candle, won’t you stop them?” I don’t know where I got the courage to tell her what I did. But I told her I wouldn’t. I would much rather have my child feel an instance of pain and learn things for themselves, rather than tell them at every step what was good or bad for them.
I would much rather not bring up my child the way I was brought up.
The one thing that I would do for my child is to be there for them when they need me; to put that ointment on their burn from the flame; to have a conversation with them about things they want to know; to support and bolster them the way I never was. I would give them the freedom to choose the right to make mistakes and the power to not be afraid for every breathing moment of their lives. And if ever, they were to get raped, to never tell them that it was their fault.
Because, it never is the child’s fault.
Pic courtesy: Rishi Verma
Read other stories of child sexual abuse survivors in our ‘I survived to tell the tale‘ series.
The post I survived to tell the tale: Because rape is never a child’s fault appeared first on The Alternative.
