Our featured article for the summer issue of Quality Matters is reprinted by permission from the August/September. 2003 issue of TASH/CONNECTION.

Saying “NO” to Abuse and Victimization

Three Little Words

By Dave Hingsburger

I was four years old. It may be my earliest memory. Certainly, it’s one of my fondest. “No, you’re wrong!” Three little words that told my mother that she no longer defined the world for me. I saw her as fallible. I saw myself as capable of expressing my own opinion. Sure I got spanked, but even as the blows fell, I knew that she was using strength, not logic. Red bummed but unrepentant, I slept that night knowing full well that I was separate from those who made me. I was, unquestionably, unique. It was an awesome feeling.

I had almost forgotten it. Lost in the busyness of adult life, I made decisions based entirely from my own thoughts and feelings. I could determine the good people from the bad people. The angels from the devils. And more importantly, right from wrong. I came to take this for granted.

It was in Windsor. I had been asked to do an abuse prevention class for people with developmental disabilities. I had a simpleminded approach for people who had for centuries been thought to be “simple minded.” I taught them to say “NO!” loudly and clearly to abuse and victimization. I was having fun. So were they. Seventy people with disabilities shouted the word “NO!” to my prompting. Role plays were done. Games were played. And then the lights came up, it was over.

In my little corner of the world, it had been a success. As people with disabilities, my audience, were milling about waiting for rides to come, parents to gather, I saw a woman, who looked to be around 24 years old.

She sat, alone. Thinking. I loved it. I like to see people with disabilities ponder what they have learned. Review the things that they have experienced. Her face darkened. She looked at me with what approached … hostility. That she was angry was clear. I wondered what had bothered her. But that lasted only seconds. I was quickly gathering up my gear, ready to escape for a quick beer and then bed.

She rose and began to approach me. I sped up. I wanted to get out of there. I had done what I had been paid for, it had been a long day, I wanted just to go. But the crowd at the door, the mess of people meeting people, blocked my exit. She arrived before I could leave.

”Hey,” she said having forgotten my name. I am not happy to admit that I tried to ignore her. Tried to get away.

”HEY!!” she said more loudly. I turned to face her. “Yes?” I asked.

”This was all wrong,” she said and began to cry —- only a little. I put my best, “I’m listening” face on. I paid for four years of education in psychology to learn that face. I like to use it.

She didn’t speak. She waited for me. “What was wrong?” I asked. “I said 'no' and he raped me anyway. It doesn’t work the way you said it does. This was all wrong.”

Before I could answer, she was walking away from me. She was done. I stared at her retreating form. Stunned by her assertion.

A few feet away from me she turned. She wasn’t crying now, she was smiling. I waited. She thought for a second and then she said, “I didn’t think you people could be so wrong.” Then she turned and walked away from me.

My briefcase was packed and I hurried to walk beside her. For a second we simply walked together. I didn’t know what to say and it didn’t matter. Without looking at me again she said, “Are you mad at me?”

I assured her I wasn’t. She walked away saying, “I’ve never told anyone they were wrong before.” I asked her if it felt good. She said that it did.

I don’t know who she was before she came to my workshop. I don’t know what she had experienced. But I knew that she left fully apart and distinct as an individual. She had been able to separate herself from me. From what she was learning. She was able to evaluate, from her own experiences, the information that came towards her. She was completely able to determine that her life had taught her something more than what I ever could have. She knew that she was right and I was wrong. That night she was able to assert that people like me, people who were supposed to be smarter, wiser and stronger, could be completely wrong. She left a person, an individual.

For me, it happened when I was four. For her, it happened when she was twenty four. The only thing that really mattered was that it happened.

It wasn’t until I was nearly six that I learned that I could be wrong. Really wrong. That how I saw the world, how I viewed other people, was not always right. I have been reminded of that a thousand times. I was reminded of my fallibility that night. I have never taught that class the same way again. She changed me.

I wonder, now, who she will be in a couple of years. I’m guessing she will be awesome. It took her a while to catch up. To assert herself. To become separate from those who have supported her. To be right, or indeed wrong, on her own terms. But now that she had, I’m guessing that nothing will stop her. To be sure, individuals who can tell us we are wrong are more difficult to serve. From my experience, though, they are a heck of a lot more fun to be around.

Growth is what it’s supposed to be about. For them. And most decidedly, for us.

Dave Hingsburger is a writer, activist, and consultant on issues related to sexuality, communications, and behavior supports. Comments about this article may be addressed to daveandjoe@sympatico.ca

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