Sing the Rage

One of my first cases in the child welfare system involved a Puerto Rican mother whose 6-year-old son was removed from her care after the son alleged sexual abuse by the mother. Well, that’s not what happened at all. What happened was that the son was undergoing a confusing and pointless lesson, imposed in those days by schools, on disclosing sexual abuse by encouraging young children to tell the authorities whether they had ever experienced “bad touch.” This, you may be startled to learn, was a vast improvement over the previous—and sometimes still employed—practice of simply asking children, “Has anyone touched you?” The questioner assumes that the child understands what is meant by “touched” or “bad touch.” This particular Puerto Rican boy told his teacher, “Yes.” She asked who had given him a bad touch and the boy said, “You and my mom.” The teacher knew she herself was innocent, so she decided that the boy just meant his mom.

When the case worker went out to the home, the other son was found to be naked as the day he was born and lying on top of the mother. This other son was only six weeks old at the time. The nudity seemed to the caseworker and a consulting psychologist to confirm the allegation of sexual abuse, so the six-year-old was removed, just to be safe.

This was my first week in the system, and when I attended a Friday meeting on where to go from here, I said that the child should be returned home and that the case should be closed with an apology. I added that if the boy was not back home by Monday, I would not be returning to DSS. “You can have him or me,” I said, “but not both.”

The administrator who had convened the meeting announced that the boy would be returned home right away. Afterwards, he took me aside and thanked me for my participation. “But,” he said, trying to be helpful, “you get too angry.”

Eleven thousand cases and three decades later, I am still angry. I am angry whenever people with power exploit others, whenever the hegemony without justification beyond maintenance of the hegemony marginalizes other parts of the system by refusing to question itself. If I weren’t angry, I would find something else to do besides advocating for abused children, silenced voices, and psychotherapy patients. (It’s true that if I found something else to do, I might not be so angry.) What I have learned in 30 years is not to be less angry; what I have learned is that to be effective, I have to strategize which battles to fight and how to fight them. There is no glory in defeat.

The means do not justify the ends. Calm, nicey-nice therapies do not justify bad outcomes and neither do noble, intrepid speaking styles that make other people stop listening.

When asked whether I am a gay ally (or any other sort of ally), I have to say, it depends. If it’s a situation where gays or women or blacks are being marginalized by a self-serving hegemony, then the answer is yes. But if it’s a situation where gays or women or blacks are marginalizing me or someone else because of race, sex, or sexual orientation, then the answer is no. Inclusion, not turnabout, is fair play.

Author: Michael Karson, Ph.D.

Clinical Psychologist View all posts by Michael Karson, Ph.D.