Dear Dan Turner,
You don't know me. However, like millions of Americans, I read the letter you wrote about your son, Brock. And after reading it, I'm pretty sure I know you. I'm not going to rip you apart for not considering the life of the woman your son raped. I know you love your son, and that you mourn the fact he will never be the same. And that is your right as a parent. I'm also not here to question your parenting. You clearly gave your son all the best that you could - he ended up swimming at one of the premier athletic and educational institutions in this country after all. I'm not here to call you names, or accuse you of being the face of rape culture. I'm not coming after you with pitchforks to burn you in the town square. That's been done. I can only imagine what the past few days have been like for you and your family.
So Dan, I'm not here to crucify or to ridicule you, but to talk to you, because I know you.
You see, Dan, I was raped by a man much like your son. He was a good boy. He had a promising future. He was a varsity athlete from a good school. He came from a good family with loving parents. He could have gone on to a powerful corporate career or taken a run at professional ball, but he chose to join the military and serve his country. He didn't have a criminal record before he raped me. He was a poised to do great things. But, he decided to rape me instead.
Like you, Dan, the father of this man loved his son. So much so that he wrote me a letter. In it, he detailed his son's dreams. His son's possibilities. Like you, he lamented the fact his son would become a registered sex offender, that he would lose his career, that he would cease to enjoy life the way he once did. So Dan, I know you. I've met you. I've heard your pleas.
What I also know about you, Dan, is that you're likely ignorant to your own privilege. Before recent events unfolded, neither you nor your son had to give much of a second thought to anything you did. You could occupy space in public without fear of repercussions to your physical, emotional, or economic safety. By random circumstance of birth, you were both born white males in a country where white males hold the power. You have the privilege to be blissfully ignorant to what it is to be on the lesser end of that power system. You have the privilege to have lived your life never having to know what it is to feel weak, helpless, or endangered simply by existing as the person you are.
Dan, I write to you because I know you wrote the letter about your son out of fear. For once you feared you may no longer have the upper hand. Your son is no longer free to occupy space in this world in a position of innate power. Dan, this is the fear that millions of people in this country face every day. Yet there is one difference between them and you. Your son made a conscious choice that stripped him of his power. It wasn't taken from him unjustly. He wasn't born into a station that denies him opportunity. No Dan, he raped another human being, and that carries consequences. You don't have the right to demand that that piece of information be overlooked.
But you do have a right to be fearful, Dan. And perhaps this is an opportunity for you to better understand your privilege. That fear you feel? That ache that your child will be forever stigmatized? That he may never get to live life to the potential you know he has? That is a fear that millions of parents of daughters have every day. That is the fear that the black, hispanic, Muslim, and queer parents have every day. They fear that their child will never be able to achieve their goals, live up to their potential. But there is a difference, Dan. Your son chose to give you that fear.
And you, too, had a choice, Dan. You could have chosen to step back and realize that this is what life without privilege feels like. You could have gained empathy. But you chose to fight tooth and nail for your power. You still refuse to understand that this power given to you by your birth is a privilege, not a right. Your son abused that power, and you are suffering the consequences. You have a right to be sad for your son, to fear for him, but not to ask for that power back.
Dan, I will conclude by telling you the same thing that I told the father of the man who made a choice to rape me. The actions of your son don't make you a bad parent, but your follow up actions prove your ignorance. I don't expect you to have compassion for me or the woman your son chose to rape. I have no intention of telling you the impact that it has had on my life. But it is time for you to have a long, hard, look at your privilege. Neither you nor your son deserve the status society bestowed on you by birthright. Realize that as millions of us fight and claw to gain the recognition and access your son had merely by being born a white male, he threw it all away by making the decision to rape someone.
So, Dan, welcome to the side of the powerless.
You don't know me. However, like millions of Americans, I read the letter you wrote about your son, Brock. And after reading it, I'm pretty sure I know you. I'm not going to rip you apart for not considering the life of the woman your son raped. I know you love your son, and that you mourn the fact he will never be the same. And that is your right as a parent. I'm also not here to question your parenting. You clearly gave your son all the best that you could - he ended up swimming at one of the premier athletic and educational institutions in this country after all. I'm not here to call you names, or accuse you of being the face of rape culture. I'm not coming after you with pitchforks to burn you in the town square. That's been done. I can only imagine what the past few days have been like for you and your family.
So Dan, I'm not here to crucify or to ridicule you, but to talk to you, because I know you.
You see, Dan, I was raped by a man much like your son. He was a good boy. He had a promising future. He was a varsity athlete from a good school. He came from a good family with loving parents. He could have gone on to a powerful corporate career or taken a run at professional ball, but he chose to join the military and serve his country. He didn't have a criminal record before he raped me. He was a poised to do great things. But, he decided to rape me instead.
Like you, Dan, the father of this man loved his son. So much so that he wrote me a letter. In it, he detailed his son's dreams. His son's possibilities. Like you, he lamented the fact his son would become a registered sex offender, that he would lose his career, that he would cease to enjoy life the way he once did. So Dan, I know you. I've met you. I've heard your pleas.
What I also know about you, Dan, is that you're likely ignorant to your own privilege. Before recent events unfolded, neither you nor your son had to give much of a second thought to anything you did. You could occupy space in public without fear of repercussions to your physical, emotional, or economic safety. By random circumstance of birth, you were both born white males in a country where white males hold the power. You have the privilege to be blissfully ignorant to what it is to be on the lesser end of that power system. You have the privilege to have lived your life never having to know what it is to feel weak, helpless, or endangered simply by existing as the person you are.
Dan, I write to you because I know you wrote the letter about your son out of fear. For once you feared you may no longer have the upper hand. Your son is no longer free to occupy space in this world in a position of innate power. Dan, this is the fear that millions of people in this country face every day. Yet there is one difference between them and you. Your son made a conscious choice that stripped him of his power. It wasn't taken from him unjustly. He wasn't born into a station that denies him opportunity. No Dan, he raped another human being, and that carries consequences. You don't have the right to demand that that piece of information be overlooked.
But you do have a right to be fearful, Dan. And perhaps this is an opportunity for you to better understand your privilege. That fear you feel? That ache that your child will be forever stigmatized? That he may never get to live life to the potential you know he has? That is a fear that millions of parents of daughters have every day. That is the fear that the black, hispanic, Muslim, and queer parents have every day. They fear that their child will never be able to achieve their goals, live up to their potential. But there is a difference, Dan. Your son chose to give you that fear.
And you, too, had a choice, Dan. You could have chosen to step back and realize that this is what life without privilege feels like. You could have gained empathy. But you chose to fight tooth and nail for your power. You still refuse to understand that this power given to you by your birth is a privilege, not a right. Your son abused that power, and you are suffering the consequences. You have a right to be sad for your son, to fear for him, but not to ask for that power back.
Dan, I will conclude by telling you the same thing that I told the father of the man who made a choice to rape me. The actions of your son don't make you a bad parent, but your follow up actions prove your ignorance. I don't expect you to have compassion for me or the woman your son chose to rape. I have no intention of telling you the impact that it has had on my life. But it is time for you to have a long, hard, look at your privilege. Neither you nor your son deserve the status society bestowed on you by birthright. Realize that as millions of us fight and claw to gain the recognition and access your son had merely by being born a white male, he threw it all away by making the decision to rape someone.
So, Dan, welcome to the side of the powerless.
