In February, The Spectator ran an editorial piece on the sanctioning of former UW-Eau Claire counselor Dick Boyum based on complaints that he made inappropriate sexual comments to several female clients over the course of 13 years. When the staff sat down to come to a consensus as to how we felt Boyum’s actions were punished, the general agreement was somewhat different from what you might expect – most felt that the question wasn’t so much what we thought about Boyum’s actions, but rather the fact that it took five university investigations over the course of 13 years to warrant a sanction.

To me, the idea that a man trusted around those looking for help being red flagged time and time again and facing no real consequences is incredulous.

During our discussion, the thought occurred to me that we wouldn’t even be talking about Boyum, had he been accused of a different crime 13 years ago. Say, for instance, if a counselor had offered to sell drugs to a student, he or she certainly would not hold their position for long. But the fact that a person in power used their position to make psychologically threatening sexual comments and faced almost no retribution is shocking.

This, I believe, is a recurring theme within our legal system, and more importantly, a deep-reaching social ill. Sexual misconduct is not treated as a crime but as a negligible taboo. We need to treat harassment, abuse and all misconduct like the crimes that they are.

To me, the most important aspect of Boyum’s case is that he was a person in power.

Unfortunately, everyone knows an instance of a person using power to their sexual benefit: a boss making inappropriate suggestions or comments to employees, a relative abusing or molesting a child – the list goes on and on. The most troubling thing about this fact is that the victims of abuse are often too terrified or ashamed to do anything to defend themselves and
possibly others.

When I was in high school, the women’s softball coach (a man who also taught algebra) was accused of having sex with several team members over the course of the decade or so that he coached. Much to many people’s surprise, several team members, including some involved in the alleged abuse, came forward not to condemn, but defend the coach.

It’s interesting that even when ousted as a predator, this man, who was so loved and so respected by his players and school, still held power over victims and those close to them. The reason I tell this story is to demonstrate what I think is the most piercing reality of sexual abuse: Even when it is plain as day, abuse is hard to convict in this society.

Andrew Vachss, a lawyer and author committed to the protection of children and made famous by his battles against an often apathetic legal system, has been lobbying for years against loophole laws that protect those that might be dangerous. Most recently, he has targeted what he calls “The incest loophole,” which perfectly illustrates how our society approaches these crimes.

It works like this: If a person assaults a child in any way, they are facing jail time.

But if they assault a child who is a member of their own family they are instantly eligible for probation. As Vachss said in a recent AP Magazine article, “Why should we have a law that gives degenerates bonus points from the criminal ‘justice’ system if they grow their own victims?”

Or consider sex offender registration laws.

Prior to 1994, only five states required released convicts to register as sex offenders. Even after that changed nationwide, no notification had to be made to community members; they had to find the information by themselves. Even today under “Megan’s Law,” which requires some form of registration and notification in every state, there is no uniformity. Some states are more lenient than others, allowing released convicts to essentially “shop around” for the easiest out.

Loophole laws are of course not the only reason we are where we are. It’s the general attitude that sexual crimes are not as serious as drug or violence charges, or the disgusting notion that a victim is in any way “responsible” for the crimes against them. As a public, we need to stop brushing reports of misconduct off our shoulders and understand the damage inflicted on the victims of these crimes.

Do your part. If a friends tells you she thinks she was sexually assaulted, don’t play it off as “a drunken misunderstanding.”

Get them help. If a manager or someone in power uses that position to make inappropriate remarks or proposals, don’t let them slide. And if, as what seems often to be the case, you hear someone bragging about their own inappropriate behavior at a party or a bar, make sure that person doesn’t see the opportunity to assault somebody else’s sister, daughter or friend.

Physical abuse is psychological murder, and it’s time it was treated as such.

Keil is a junior print journalism major and showcase editor of The Spectator.