Pedophiles Among Us
When federal agents came knocking on my door at 7 o’clock one morning, I thought they were overzealous marketers of some scheme to save me money on my electric or cable bill. But then they identified their agency, flashed their badges, and told me instead that they received a tip that I had viewed a site with child pornography. I felt the blood drain from my face.
For members of my family, the news that I had been arrested for possession of child pornography came as a shock, a bomb out of nowhere. It obliterated the image my elderly father and adult daughter had of me. It left them bereft and devastated. But for me, the shock was that I was caught.
I now better understand the arrogance surrounding my surprise. It was mainly based on the fact that I “only” downloaded and possessed material, never uploaded or distributed anything. I figured the authorities would go after the people who uploaded the videos and actively distributed them, not the downloaders, the consumers. My arrogance was rooted in the false idea that what I did “didn’t hurt anybody”, an idea that I sensed deep down was false and that took continuous strained effort to maintain.
I would visit “jailbait forums” where videos of adolescents and pre-adolescents dancing naked or masturbating would be posted, webcam videos captured from sites like Omegle, or selfie videos posted to sites like Musical.ly. I would also visit manga sites to view and download hentai and lolicon. I know it’s a matter of dispute how connected these things are — but for me personally, the two fed each other. Of course, I knew that those videos were encouraged and recorded through deception. Now that I’ve read more on the subject, on grooming children for sexual exploitation, those suppressed thoughts have been confirmed. But the fiction of voluntary, willing girls helped me maintain my denial of the obvious.
In the fall-out from the revelation of how even the richest man in the world is subject to extortion regarding digitized indiscretions, Scott Galloway reminds us how people far less powerful, teenage boys and girls, are extorted and exploited and profoundly hurt by the digitized mistakes they make. The internet is a treacherous place where lies and deception are the norm, and where the most vulnerable are targeted for exploitation.
I think most people who know me consider me a decent person, a good father, someone with integrity who stands up for what I believe is right, for those with less power and privilege. I despise and often rail against those who maintain their precious ignorance to preserve their selfishness, to protect their base interests — but that was me. I often can’t understand how people can lack compassion for those who are disadvantaged, vulnerable, or marginalized — but again, that was me.
In the days following the knock at my door— I hadn’t yet been arrested after my computer and flash drives were taken to be examined by the authorities — I experienced a strange mix of anguish, dread, and relief. I don’t think I need to explain the anguish and dread. But the relief…
This lie, this contradiction that was my life, was at the beginning of its end. I’m so sorry that those who I love have to bear the burden of my facing up to this ugly truth about myself. I wish I never had the feelings that led to this. I wish I had the courage to seek help those times when I walked away from it in fear and disgust, only to return. But now, it’s no longer my awful secret. I view this as a chance to get myself straight.
I’m trying to understand why this was a fantasy that I indulged. My therapist compares it to OCD, and there was something compulsive about the whole thing. It was part of my daily morning routine, sandwiched between my cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal.
It wasn’t until ten days after my apartment was raided that I began to research the whole issue, to face up to what I did, and read how, of course, the girls in the videos are deeply hurt by this unauthorized recording and sharing of what they thought was private sharing, which itself was often prompted through deception. It was exploitative and awful and I was a participant. And as a participant I helped to perpetuate it.
From doing research online and talking to my therapist, I learned the difference between pedophilia and molesting or assaulting a child; the different psychological characteristics of people who possess child pornography, people who sexually assault children, and dual offenders; how the empirical evidence often doesn’t guide the legal system; and that a minority of pedophiles commit a contact crime. I felt those distinctions in myself and felt safer because of them. As I explained to my therapist, the thought of enacting my fantasies with an actual child, a child I would come across in daily life, in a shop or on the street, would never enter my mind. Sitting there with my therapist, when I tried to imagine doing that with a real child, a real person, I just couldn’t imagine it. He asked me why. The answer was obvious: because she’s just a kid. In real life I can see that. But sitting in front of my computer screen, I could ignore that inconvenient fact, the fact of a girl’s humanity that would interfere with my stunted habit of gratification. I obviously have this capacity to disconnect and compartmentalize that allowed me to do what I am guilty of. But thank God, it seemed to also help reinforce a barrier that prevented me from trying to make those fantasies real.
Last October, after I had been arrested, my daughter sent me an email titled “Kavanaugh and others” where she shared her observations about Brett Kavanaugh and other respected men whose far from respectable treatment toward girls and women had been recently revealed. I had been following the news around the Kavanaugh Supreme Court nomination somewhat obsessively — for reasons that many did, as a political and cultural spectacle, but also for clues to myself. There have been a couple articles, commentaries where I found them. There was an article by Dahlia Lithwick in Slate about the two types of women in Kavanaugh’s life, those he treats well and those he treats abominably. That’s where I recognized myself.
I discussed that with my therapist. And I talked about how my daughter made me face that. It’s been a lifeline to have the support of close family members and a good friend, but my daughter’s anger and disillusionment and repudiation is what I needed more than anything if I ever hoped to atone.
Atonement is something I speak to my therapist about. At the beginning of Rosh Hashanah there was a piece in the Washington Post by a young woman rabbi talking about atonement. She was prompted by the re-emergence of Louis CK, his rapid return absent atonement — absent taking full responsibility for his actions, absent a genuine examination of his actions, absent an apology to his victims, absent restitution of some kind to his victims. Because only then could he ask for forgiveness from his victims.
I am trying to take responsibility for my actions. Again, my daughter has helped me to not attempt to deflect or minimize or excuse the seriousness of what I’ve done. My therapist reminded me that what I am doing with him is part of that genuine examination. And he said, since I couldn’t really apologize to my victims, what can I do? To genuinely examine what I did and how I participated in a system of exploitation that furthered that exploitation, to understand what thoughts and behaviors and habits led to and were associated with what I did and work to eliminate them from my life, to vow to never do what I did again and to keep that vow.
Writing this piece is also part of that process. To write and publish a piece that tells my story where minimizing and denying the harm I did was key to its continuation. To share with other men that pattern of denial. To share with other men the sense of relief I felt after I was caught and to explore what that means. To appeal to that buried dissonance between the self-conception of being a good person and the fact of doing something they know, I knew, to be bad and harmful and shameful. And to let them know they can seek help.
I was going to suggest what I did that led me to my therapist, googling “child pornography lawyer” after the raid and asking an attorney for a referral. But my therapist told me about the referral service at atsa.com. As for the understandable fear that to seek help would invite legal prosecution, my therapist explained to me that as long as there is no specific threat to an actual child, what you discuss with your therapist is confidential and not subject to mandatory reporting.
I recall that there would be hundreds if not thousands of “guests” noted in the visitor counts on those jailbait forum sites I would visit. This piece I’m writing is for those visitors, those “guests”, those men who believe they’re not hurting anyone but have this tension, this knot in their chest, that says otherwise. This process I’m in with my therapist and my best friend with whom I speak every day, and moments alone thinking, remembering, reading, examining, and feeling awful about myself, is something I wish I had begun years ago. And that terrible knot in my chest that I sensed but didn’t really notice, like a silent malignant tumor, is now gone. That’s why I’m glad I was caught, because to die and have this secret buried with me would forever haunt my soul.
But I believe that it is not necessary to be caught, to be arrested and indicted and face years in prison, to wake up to the fact that one is engaging in harmful, exploitative behavior and to do something about it. I am very confident I will not re-offend, and I admit that much of that confidence is borne from the legal consequences I’m facing, which make the seriousness of my crime undeniable. But it is also borne from the realization of how I have been participating in and perpetuating a system of exploitation, actively hurting children whose humanity I ignored.
Seeking out the help of a therapist trained and experienced in these matters will help you turn that disquiet in your heart into positive action. Getting the help you need to be the person you believe yourself to be need not wait for a knock on the door early one morning.
