Having lived for twenty years in a culture where these issues are dealt with in a more rational and less sensationalistic way, I want to offer up a perspective different from those I've encountered since my return to the U.S.
To my mind the scarcity of sensible, age-appropriate sex education in America greatly contributes to the pain and confusion surrounding sex with minors. Often we lack even the vocabulary to talk with young people about the vital subject of sex and sexuality. We attach so much shame to sex, it's no wonder when children aren't prepared to respond in their own self-interest when/if an adult tries to persuade or compel them to engage in sexual intimacy. And when a child is preyed upon, she or he is all too often afraid to seek help or protection. Then perpetrators carry on with their unacceptable behavior, counting on their victims' shame and fear to protect them from exposure. Healthy, thoughtful sex education goes a long way to reduce both shame and fear, making the young person much more able to say No and to report these destructive acts and attempts to trusted adults.
As long as we adults are reacting with blind rage toward perpetrators and a blanket denunciation of sex involving adults with those under 18, we are re-traumatizing young people, forever attaching fear to sex. I was one of the lucky ones.
My story is my story. I am not trying to generalize about all youth. I was fortunate to grow up in a family in which, though we didn't talk much about sex and sexuality, the atmosphere was one of trust and openness. I knew from a very young age that I was attracted to other males. Before my adolescence this attraction was mostly warm and fuzzy and not sexual. From the age of 14, I knew what I longed for and saw no way -- at school, at church, or in my various theater groups -- to find fulfillment. I did some dating with girls I liked, but wondered if I'd ever find a male partner.
So I took action. And yes, I was tall and precocious, perhaps mature for my age. This was back in the early-, mid-60's. I was living in the D.C. suburbs. While I was aware of what I longed for, I was not fearful of breaking a law, for I knew that what I wanted was good, not dark, dirty or dangerous. I didn't yet know the word "consensual", but for me sex was only desirable if both people wanted it with each other. If someone had told me that at age 14-going-on-15 I wasn't ready to choose a sex partner, I would have had a vigorous debate with that person. Because I knew that the adults in my life wouldn't accept or approve of my desires, I kept them to myself.
I'd take a bus to downtown D.C. and head to Dupont Circle. While I hadn't (quite) learned about "cruising" or how the rituals of mutual seduction were played out, I did know that other guys seeking guys were to be found in that part of town. In the middle of my adolescence, not yet a man, no longer a child, I'd walk around the Circle and then settle down on a bench and watch the parade of humanity go by. I'm glad I wasn't taught to never talk with strangers. A Saturday afternoon in spring, summer or fall, the sun shining overhead and all kinds of people passing by seemed so much more fitting to my finding a sex partner than some stinky urinal or restroom stall.
It didn't take too long to strike up a conversation with a friendly man. While our words, our "text" was typical chitchat, our subtext was charged. If a seduction was taking place, it was mutual and felt easy and natural. And thrilling. I'm a good judge of character. When this fellow named Stan offered me a ride back up Connecticut Avenue, I was happy to accept. When we got as far as his place, halfway home for me, he looked at me with warm, brown eyes and gently asked if I'd like to stop off at his apartment. Yes. Looking back at this affirming and satisfying experience, I realize that one reason Stan was so careful and solicitous was that he knew he was breaking the law. But whatever his past had offered him, it was clear to me that we both wanted not just sex, but affection and kindness.
When we parted, we both knew and acknowledged that we'd most likely never see one another again. My life as a high school freshman revolved around school and home and family. Stan was a traveling salesman. We parted with respect and affection. Stan had given me hope that my teenaged years did not need to be years of frustration and waiting. I gave Stan, at the very least, a good memory.
As I was leaving, Stan said he wanted to give me something. He turned to the bookshelf and plucked out a paperback novel by Herman Wouk, City Boy. His warm smile and his parting words, "I liked this book. I hope you do, too." I did and I do.
Dear Reader, your outrage when you encounter, directly or indirectly, another instance of child molestation is our collective outrage. When, however, our outrage blurs our vision, we can neglect to see how the victim needs our steady love and support first and foremost.
Whether it be the Good Fortune of the Welsh or the common sense and good intentions I bear, I have never been a victim. I have always found that mutual respect is mine for the making.
Listening to our loved ones, to our patients and clients, listening to and hearing without judgment what a victim has experienced, that is a primary gift we can bring. When we can learn to bring that same compassionate listening to a perpetrator, when we can do that, we will have begun to truly address this issue wholeheartedly.