The Bishop Eddie Long died on January 15th. That does not mean the pain he inflicted dies with him.
In 2010, four men came forth about the sexual violence Long subjected them to. One appeared on the news to speak about his experiences. I thought about what it must have taken for him to disclose such a thing on national television.
Furthermore, I thought about the potential response from the Black church and the Black community as a whole.
My answer came when I saw Eddie Long welcomed, applauded, shielded, and exalted by his flock.
It came as the survivor’s response was mockingly woven into Eddie Griffin’s standup routine.
I thought about those things as I read my earlier piece. How my call for survivors to speak about their experiences could subject them to further violence.
For the past three days, I have been caught in a cycle. It starts around two o’clock in the morning and ends at five. The cycle is fueled by the necessity to respond to myself and my old piece.
My journal is open. I read the article. Any attempt to critique my work is drowned out by a feeling of disgust. I try to write. The sentences are not coherent. They do not mean anything. I close the browser, go to bed, and tell myself I’ll try again tomorrow.
I do not want to drag this out nor make it about me. I do not want to add any flowery rhetoric or academic jargon. I just wish to speak to those I hurt from my last piece.
I was wrong. Incredibly wrong. For that, I deeply apologize.
I think about what I wrote and it bothers me.
“In maintaining this silence, we as black men say to ourselves and one another that we see no problem with the violence impacting our community…I am not saying we have to speak about it in front of white people, but we have to speak about it. As black men who have survived sexual assault, we cannot remain silent, considering the violence being done to our children...If we fail to do so, we contribute to a culture of rape that will undoubtedly lead to more black girls and boys walking around broken.”
Reading this almost a year later, I realize this was shaming. I was shaming Black people who were dealing with trauma into divulging said trauma for someone else’s sake. I was operating under the false assumption that talking about things always makes it better. That is not a universal truth and, for some, does nothing but re-trauamtize. What I was engaging in was a form of emotional manipulation, a form of abuse, a form of violence.
In the past nine months, I bore witness the multitude of reasons which deter people from coming forward.
Survivors disclose what happened to Black men and they, without their knowledge, filed police reports or inflicted physical harm on their attackers. As if that erases the fact the assault still took place.
I have seen the criminal ‘justice’ system create more violence than it resolves.
I have watched universities do nothing to remove assailants from campus.
More than anything, I have found that Black men will always find ways to be trash. Black athletes and fraternity members - despite any claim of manhood, friendship, service, or solidarity - will explicitly excuse rapists, unabashedly reject survivors, deny evidence, and side with their boys every time.
I can only offer an apology to any survivor who was hurt or impacted by my piece. I made the decision to speak about what happened to me. I made that choice on my own volition. Despite that choice, survivors of sexual assault are not obligated to share anything with anyone.
It is my hope we can continue to dismantle rape culture and build the spaces and resources we need to heal.
In love and constant evaluation,
Josh
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