What Holds It in Place, Part 2

Institutional Complicity

To Readers Who May Be Looking for Me:

I’ve been awash in grief. On the evening of August 28th, a friend sent a link to the news story of a murder-suicide in a Manhattan apartment building. An entire family had been stabbed to death, allegedly by the father, the building superintendent, who then committed suicide. The story was personal, for I had lived in that building, 328 West 86th Street, for many years. My kids grew up there, and we knew the people involved. I wanted to vomit for many days.

A few weeks later, the images of murdered children came rushing back. Once again, the massacre of 1,400 Israeli civilians by Hamas terrorists had personal meaning: three of my former tutoring clients--not far removed from childhood themselves--were deployed in the IDF. As of this writing, the Israeli retaliation has resulted in over 8,500 Palestinian deaths, many children among them.

On October 25th, in Lewiston, Maine, a gunman carrying an AR-15 killed 18 innocent people before committing suicide. The youngest victim was 14. The oldest was 76. This is where we've come to, folks, murdering children and grandparents.

A day later, Mike Johnson, the new Speaker of the House, was asked whether Congress might act to restrict firearm access. Johnson replied, “[A]t the end of the day, the problem is the human heart, it’s not guns, it’s not the weapons. At the end of the day, we have to protect the right of the citizens to protect themselves, . . .” 

Whose heart was Johnson talking about? Surely not the fragments of human hearts scattered around the bowling alley and the bar the gunman shot up. No, Johnson was referring to the perpetrator's heart, in that "too bad" kind of way. It's too bad the killer, a military reservist and shooting instructor with a history of mental illness and making violent threats, didn't have love in his heart. Alas.

Extreme events may seem inexplicable, but they’re not. Rather, they emerge from familiar circumstances we barely notice, let alone control. The callous language of politicians like Mike Johnson is part of a status quo that perpetuates inhumanity. His words speak for a system of institutions that affords guarantees to criminals instead of the innocent. This imbalance, of elevating perpetrators over victims, is not unique to guns. It's at the heart of many ills of American society. Including sexual assault. Which brings me back to where I left off when the killing began.

In the heady aftermath of E. Jean Carroll's victory against Donald Trump, I hoped I might recover damages through the Adult Survivors Act. The Act enabled people like me who suffered an assault long ago to sue our abusers and the institutions (i.e., churches, universities, hospitals, banks) that protected them. I was covered, or so I thought.

Some backstory: my offender was a high-flying celebrity doctor who, like Donald Trump, had access to women's pussies on a regular basis. He also had an orange face. The assault happened in 1984, during a fitting for a birth control device he was hawking at the time. I missed many red flags, including the absence of a nurse in the examination room and that no speculum was used. Immediately afterward, I went numb. I froze. I barely registered what had happened. I told myself it wasn't much of anything or whatever.

In fact, my inner narrative was typical and only one of the effects I suffered. Forms of PTSD include "rewriting" the incident to displace the emotional impact. In other words, to pretend the trauma didn't occur.  By 1984, I was practiced at such mental gymnastics. Three years earlier, I was assaulted the first time in a much more frightening situation. I convinced myself I was completely to blame: I had let the person into the elevator with me, so it was no one's fault but mine. Whenever I recalled the incident, I felt bad about myself for allowing "that thing" to occur. I couldn't go public because I would be shamed for my stupidity. I didn't talk about it for 35 years.

Even so, consequences took root. Another distinct outcome of sexual assault when the woman freezes is deep and persistent depression. Within two months of my ill-fated appointment with the gynecologist, the birth control device failed. I chose to have the baby; it was a decision made without reservation, and my boyfriend and I got married. Nothing made me happier than the prospect of motherhood.

I had experienced depression before, but nothing as disturbing as the post-partum after my son's birth in 1985. Terrified, I sat on the floor to escape thoughts of tossing my baby out the window. The anguish would peak and then abate for weeks, only to return without warning. Most painful was the dissonance within me, for I adored my son and was devoted to him. This state of mind persisted on and off for eighteen months. I didn't seek help because I thought this was just who I was, a shameful person who had to live with it.

The depression is but one piece of the injury. The psychological impact of an assault--or two, as in my case--is often the absence of what should be but isn't. Between 1981 and my son's birth in 1985, I floundered in my career. The period was marked by reversals and missteps and financial insecurity. There was no clear forward movement in my life. What I did not know was that these issues are common among women who'd been assaulted and borne the pain alone. My experience as a young adult fit into a category, of those scarred by sexual abuse. 

Suddenly, E. Jean Carroll and the ASA presented an opportunity for redress. I could not go after my first, unknown offender, but the second, the notorious doctor, was a big name. Perhaps I could target the hospitals with which the doctor had affiliations. (He died in 2020, and the liability window of his estate was past.)

Though the doctor saw me in a private office on Park Avenue, he had admitting privileges, delivered babies, and performed surgeries at Lenox Hill and Mount Sinai. Surely those hospitals, where he was under contract, would bear some accountability. Their insurance oversight must extend to the person who assaulted me and no doubt many others.

My lawyer friend broke the news gently. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to hold the hospitals accountable. The key point was that the doctor was affiliated with, not employed by Lenox Hill and Mount Sinai, so they would likely not be on the hook for any wrongdoing. If his office had been on the premises, and I had experienced some complication from a screwup during an examination, then perhaps the hospital would bear some liability. However, sexual assault is not considered an injury, even if it occurs on hospital grounds. The hospitals would be liable for sexual assault damages only if they had had received some notice of the doctor's improprieties/crimes and had chosen to ignore them--in other words, direct evidence of complicity. This is what happened in the recent class action settlements by Deutsche Bank and J.P. Morgan Chase in favor of victims of Jeffrey Epstein. In both cases, the banks turned a blind eye to a paper trail documenting Epstein's conduct. They continued to do business with him.

What about the doctor's malpractice insurance, I asked. Surely those companies would bear accountability; in the case of OB/GYNs, those policies are a requisite for seeing patients. And the premiums are stratospherically high. Again, the answer was probably no: insurance companies are not enumerated in the ASA as institutions with legal exposure, as they don’t monitor or have authority over a doctor’s practice as an employer would over an employee.

The outrage took a few minutes to sink in. How is sexual assault in a doctor's office not malpractice? How are insurance companies not institutions with accountability? Rather than protect patients like me, the system shields the doctor and the hospitals against victims raising an alarm.  Against people like me.

Crimes happen in an environment that allows them to be committed. The collusion between the hospitals and the insurance companies protects the offender--the predator doctor--and allows sexual assault to flourish. The onus is on victims to overcome these obstacles and call attention to their abusers.

Meanwhile, the nature of sexual assault mitigates against that ever happening. As E. Jean demonstrated during her trial, screaming while the violation is occurring, especially in a doctor's office, is infinitely less common than freezing, if not altogether nonexistent. Such victims are not going home to write an indignant letter to a faceless corporation. This conspiracy effectively silences her while offering the doctor a license to assault.

To Be Continued . . .