Teen Girl Forced to Give Cop Oral Sex — What the Sick Abuse of Authority Says About Our Rape Culture

From Alternet: http://www.alternet.org/story/152310/teen_girl_forced_to_give_cop_oral_sex_–_what_the_sick_abuse_of_authority_says_about_our_rape_culture/

A girl files suit after sexual abuse from a cop reveals a departmental pattern; what is with authority figures using sex to dominate others?

By Sarah Seltzer
September 6, 2011

In our authority-oriented society, we’re expected to put our trust in certain powerful figures: the police officers charged with protecting us, the clergy charged with guiding us.

So why is a culture of sexual abuse so rampant in many outposts of these kinds of institutions?

The answer lies in the question: wherever there is unquestioned power and authority, we’ll see sexual abuse, because in our “rape culture” rape is above all about power, domination, and violence. And when the attacker feels that he or she can get away with it–as those who are revered or set aside by society do–the problem worsens.

Over Labor Day weekend, a chilling story came to light in Kansas City, Missouri. The court case arose out of a culture of police negligence around questionable sexual behavior, a culture that eventually led to a horrific assault on a young girl, a teen who was hanging out late in a park with her friends.

From Courthouse news service:

A teen-age girl says a Jackson County police officer forced her to give him oral sex in his squad car after he found her and some friends in a park after curfew. And she says that assault is just the tip of the iceberg of a pattern of sexual deviancy by Jackson County police officers…

Burgess told C.B.’s friends to leave, then he handcuffed C.B., fondled her breasts, vaginal area and buttocks, forced her to give him oral sex and ejaculated.

Continue reading at:  http://www.alternet.org/story/152310/teen_girl_forced_to_give_cop_oral_sex_–_what_the_sick_abuse_of_authority_says_about_our_rape_culture/

One Response to “Teen Girl Forced to Give Cop Oral Sex — What the Sick Abuse of Authority Says About Our Rape Culture”

  1. Teresa Ellen Reeves Says:

    The Legacy of Rape Culture in the Name Of Authority and Patriarchy

    My mother was 20 years old when she came home from her job to her upstairs apartment with an outside entrance in Columbus, Ohio. My father was away serving in the Navy in the South Pacific during World War II.
    But it was after midnight when my mother arrived by bus from her job as a waitress. And there was a man sitting on the top of the steps in her way to the front door. So she had to turn away from home and she went looking for help.

    And in about a block or so she found a police car with two men inside.
    “Can you help me?.. There is a man sitting on my stairs blocking my way to my apartment!”, she asked plaintively.
    “We want to help. Where at, ma’am? Can you show us?”, one responded as he and his partner stepped out of the car.

    But they didn’t help her. They helped themselves. They both raped her.
    She had been all alone with no place to run when they grabbed her.
    All that she could remember long after they were gone was that one had said:

    “You sure are pretty!”

    Twelve years later, my mother’s brother Charles committed suicide with a shotgun blast. He had shrapnel embedded in his brain from World War II that couldn’t be removed. He had lost everything. His wife had died from a stroke at age 37, his teenage son, Bussey (Charles, Jr.) had also killed himself with a gun at age 16.

    Bussey had had his life struck by a cyclone. His mother died suddenly and his father was in agonizing pain and suffering seizures and blackouts that nearly left him incapacitated. Bussey was forced to grow up much too fast and he knew that his father, like his mother was also not going to live much longer.

    One day Bussey was out driving and stopped by a police officer. The officer bullied and treated him like a criminal suspect when he questioned him about driving his father’s car as if he had stolen it. However it had happened, and had he been brutalized?– it was the last straw for Bussey. But he did tell his father what happened because he was the one who had to vouch for him driving his car.

    And after Bussey had taken his life, all that Charles could do was find that officer, that bully, and stare at him for minutes at a time.

    Just days before he took his life with all family and all hope lost he visited Mom and me.
    And he pressed a silver dollar with my mother’s birth year on it, 1925, into my hand.
    It was my legacy. From my Uncle Charles. My mother’s brother. A tragic hero in my family.

    I had been told about my mother’s father. He had molested her beginning at an age before she could even remember.
    Her mother had enabled him, allowed the situation to occur when she was not around. But he was the neighborhood child molester with dozens of victims. When my mother complained of what her father was doing, her mother didn’t believe it:
    “You’re just jealous of him!”

    She was regularly molested by him, a victim of incest for more than a dozen years.
    It only ended when my mother got married at 16 to my father, in part to get away from her father.
    But on my mother’s wedding day in 1941, her father was killed crossing the street when drunk as he was hit by a car.

    Her mother said to her that day:
    “I knew he was out to no good… But I never could catch him!”
    It was the closest she ever came to admitting that she knew and allowed it to happen.

    And I was to learn much later that her father had not been the only perpetrator of incest to victimize her.
    It was the tragic family hero. My Uncle Charles.

    And around the same time of my Uncle Charles death, my father’s father was accused of raping his sister.
    My mother was to testify in her behalf in a court hearing.
    My mother was punched in the face and threatened with a gun. By my father.
    I don’t know how the case was resolved, but my father’s father died shortly thereafter.
    And his sister never was to have a normal life and she was to become an alcoholic and institutionalized as were several others in my father’s family.

    In 1978, in Ohio, my brother’s 12 year old daughter, Karen, was kidnapped, raped and murdered by a cousin of her stepfather whose wife she was babysitting for. I couldn’t visit family then as it was one year after I had had sex reassignment surgery and my father was laying in wait at the funeral to meet me with violence if I dared to show.
    Although I was able eventually able to establish some contact and get some acceptance– it was to ensure that I would never be able to see him or my brother’s youngest daughter again in the last 36 years. I could never go home again.

    I was fortunate to enroll at Santa Ana College in 1979 where I found acceptance and encouragement from other women in Women’s Studies where I was among feminists. My education and fieldwork allowed me to develop a feminist reputation as an affirmative counselor for women and for lesbians, gays, and transsexuals. In 1986, this led to my being recruited to be a counseling intern by two lesbian counselors, including one, The Center Orange County’s Counseling Coordinator, Judi Doyle, who had been the President of the California Marriage & Family Therapist Association (CAMFT). I was to serve a diverse, lesbian, gay and transsexual clientele for some 1500 hours, some 900 working with lesbian individuals, couple and I was invited by a senior counselor, Kyli Rainier, to co-lead a group of lesbian incest survivors– and I did so for 18 months.

    Today there are places like Vancouver, B.C., Canada, and the U.K. where transsexuals are forbidden by law to be counselors working with victims of sexual assault or molestation. A life sentence that convicts a person for having used to be male. Thank God I had some enlightened lesbians then who knew what I had to offer and allowed me to work at what I do best.

    In 1996, my mother was in rapid decline from Alzheimer’s when we went on a trip to Las Vegas. At the Riviera hotel there was live music in the lounge and a nice elderly gentlemman wanted to dance with her. she danced with him on several fast numbers and I was trying to stay on the periphery.

    I was apparent to me and to most people that my mother’s mind was slipping away, but I found myself increasingly agitated at the persistence of the man who had something in mind. He wanted to get a bottle of liquor and go to our hotel room and have sex with my mother and if I was willing, me.

    I was making excuses and I was being a spoil sport to my mother who was having a good time.
    But she had no clue as to what this man’s game was and how he was trying to lure a woman with dementia into sex.
    When she got frustrated enough with me she blurted out to the man.

    “It’s all right… She’s just cranky… She’s been that way ever since she had a sex change operation!”

    My mother, my hero and my best friend who had stood by me through my transition to surgery and for long after had just betrayed my privacy and outed me to a sex-hungry jerk. But it didn’t matter to him. He was still eager.

    Fortunately, I got us out of there and stayed away from that lounge for the rest of the trip.

    Four months later we went on a trip to Vancouver, B.C. and my mother was eager to tell the story of her rape more than 50 years before by those police officers to complete strangers. And the last one she told the story to was a man in his 50s who was not trying to elicit it from her.

    Here she was, a woman who no longer knew what a human sexual relationship was like or what it was all about anymore. She remembered the rape. But no longer understood the culture that produced men as perpetrators and women as victims. She wanted to tell the story to anyone, regardless.

    She could remember nothing of our Rape Culture and our family legacy that mirrored it.
    She passed away 12 years ago this month on September 21, 1999. And I miss her every day.
    I will always love her and remember her. I was so proud to be her daughter.


Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: