When Cries of Protest Shatter the Innocence of a Trusting Child

My local paper recently reported the conviction of a 26-year-old woman for spraying paint on $47.03 worth of pornographic magazines at a store.

A small act, perhaps, but one magnified by ideology. During the trial, the woman’s supporters demonstrated in front of the courthouse, claiming she was being persecuted because of her feminist beliefs.

Such demonstrations are common enough here. They stir a painful conflict between my concern for free speech and my concern for my daughter.

On a brisk spring afternoon my 6-year-old and I were walking along Northampton’s three-block Main Street. The town is the kind that became chic in the ‘80s, with its restored brick buildings housing galleries, boutiques and bakeries.

Another Northampton trait is its political culture, a deeply rooted liberalism of the “Make Love Not War” kind that went out of fashion after the 1960s in much of the rest of the country. It is also a town deeply sensitized to women’s issues. The voices of feminists and lesbians are heard often, and range across a broad spectrum of opinion.

Although I’m far more middle of the road than most of the people I know here, I had come to think of Northampton’s politics as part of its charm.

That afternoon, yet another demonstration seemed to be in progress.

My daughter and I, strolling happily hand in hand, could hear shouts as we approached our favorite building, the Richardsonian county courthouse that dominates the main street. We were curious, so we joined the bystanders.

At the center of the group, I could see about eight women protesters, with several police officers poised nearby. As we got closer, the words became distinct: “Stop the rapists and batterers . . . Stop the rapists and batterers.”

“What are rapists and batterers?” my daughter asked me.

I hesitated. I was a little panicked. I had an urge to yell back, “Not in front of the children.” I didn’t really want to tell my 6-year-old about rape. I hadn’t even explained sexual intercourse to her.

I mumbled a few long umms while searching for a truthful but gentle way to explain. Finally, I said, “Rapists and batterers are men who hurt women.”

She blinked, looked crushed, and said, “But Daddy is nice to you.”

“Yes,” I said, “but there are some men who aren’t like that.”

She began to cry, and then said, a little more forcefully: “But Daddy is nice to you.”

Oh, yes, yes, yes. I tried to reassure her. But she looked stricken.

In this brave new world of open and tolerant parenting, we are not supposed to shelter our children. We’re supposed to expose and explain. Well, I had tried, and I had failed. My daughter’s most fundamental faith in the decency of human relationships had been shaken. Would she no longer trust men?

I walked on with her, still searching my mind for some other way to describe raping and battering. I was frustrated. Then I remembered why the women were protesting, and my goodwill evaporated.

The demonstration was in support of two women on trial for vandalizing the pornographic magazine section of a newsstand in a neighboring town. They had sprayed paint over the magazines, a patron and the store proprietor, causing about $800 in damage. Their supporters argued, as others have, that pornography provokes violence against women.

It was not the first time the store had been vandalized; in the previous incident, glue was spread across the offending publications. This time the event had been videotaped by a store security system.

Anti-pornography raids are not the only acts of political vandalism here. Two years ago, on Easter morning, the town awoke to find a number of churches desecrated.

There are also many sweet and reasonable voices. The annual gay pride day parade is, here and elsewhere, a festive event that embraces a cross-section of townspeople.

But the more strident voices are inescapable. When my daughter was 3, she brought home from day care some drawings she had done on recycled computer paper. My husband and I happened to flip over the paper, finding a printout generated by a women’s network at a local university. It contained a graphic description of a woman’s fantasy about rape, and her acts of revenge upon her attackers. I was glad my daughter couldn’t read.

At 6, she perceives more in passing scenes. What she saw and heard outside the courthouse breached her faith and knowledge that most men and women treat each other with kindness. In that moment, I think that my daughter was violated in a way.

I hadn’t planned on dealing with such issues so soon. Perhaps because I live where I live, I had thought about it, but had decided to wait until she had absorbed the basics. My plan was to start with the biological and work through the emotional and psychological.

But I am far less worried about my daughter wandering into a rack of pornographic magazines than I am about her being exposed to protesters’ yells about rapists and batterers. I find the implied message, that all men are evil and all men hurt women, destructive.

My daughter is now 8. We are likely to meet up with protesters again. The next time we hear their voices, I will tell my daughter the truth. Not only that some men hurt women, but also that some women do not like men, and some women vilify men. Some women are willing to police the thoughts of others. Where I live, these lessons come early.