If you read my last post, you likely followed my disgust at the bleeding heart tone of the journalists who took immense pity on child rapists who were boo-hooing over not being allowed to live with the children they’d raped – or near any other children.

Today, I found another story. You can read it here. I originally found it on FoxNews, but since FoxNews has all the journalistic integrity of a gossipy thirteen-year-old on Adderoll, I decided to find another article instead. This one had actual information in it instead of wild speculation and sensationalist buzzwords.

(As a note, I often feel like William Shatner and FoxNews have a lot in common. They both have “voices” that overemphasize ridiculously.)

Anyway. I’m torn about this article, but only a little. A small perhaps 10% of my mind has some doubts. That small part of me worries about the assault against the justice system, and the chaos that mob justice brings. I look, rationally, at the possibility that someone I love could be mistaken for some guy on the news and beaten unconscious instead of taken to the police quietly. That’s difficult to justify, in my mind. These people took the law into their own hands, and I very much hope for their sakes that this man is guilty, or else they have done society a grave injustice. The fact that he had to be caught instead of reporting to police to clear his name seems to indicate to me his guilt, but I’m only a layperson.

The other 90% of me wants hit squads on every corner. I want pedophiles to know that there are angry women and men with bats that have nails through them that will hunt them down and beat them unconscious before handing them over to the police. I want the threat of being exposed, being violated, being helpless against the attack of an angry mob, to hang over every fucking pedophile’s head. I hope for the sake of that very deterring force that the man in that story is guilty, because then the pedophiles and child rapists who want to follow in his footsteps and brutally rape an eleven year old girl will learn what will happen to them if they do it.

On the one hand, I know vigilante justice can be flawed. Without a legal system, we have no proof of guilt. With no investigation, beatings that are undeserved could be meted out. On the other hand, it is this level of mob justice that deters criminals from committing a crime. Pedophiles, child rapists, and sexual abusers thrive on silence and fear. They are most powerful when they have the authority and the ability to silence their victims and their families with threat of humiliation and retribution.

So I say throw the doors wide. Scream their crimes to the sky, because like blackmailers, they only have power so long as you let them retain the upper hand. Make examples of the guilty and maybe the (so far) innocent will remain that way. Maybe these fucking perverts will restrict their sick fantasies to their own homes and learn from this example never to involve a child in their search for perverse gratification.

If that man is guilty, I hope he suffers. I hope they find a bridge to drop him off under after a nice long jail sentence, and I hope he lives in his own filth and squalor because this mob was brave enough to stand up to him and take his ass down publicly. Anonymity and police protection of “persons of interest” will no longer save him from public scrutiny. No mother with a third of a brain and a conscience will ever let her children near him again.

These are the deterrents. These are the crystalline moments of clarity that stop child sexual abuse. Those people stood up for their community and said, “No more.”


~ by oniongirl13 on June 24, 2009.

2 Responses to “Deterrents.”

  1. A friend of mine send me some info about the Pink Gang in India, a band of women who take action against government and police corruption, wife-beating, rape and child ‘marriage’. They wear pink saris and seem appropriately bad-ass given what they’re up against. Here’s a link: (I love the picture) and here’s an article with more substance:

  2. Sometimes the Perp Gets Beaten to Death

    My name is Keith Smith. I was abducted, beaten and raped by a stranger. It wasn’t a neighbor, a coach, a relative, a family friend or teacher. It was a recidivist pedophile predator who spent time in prison for previous sex crimes; an animal hunting for victims in the quiet suburbs of Lincoln, Rhode Island.

    I was able to identify the guy and the car he was driving. He was arrested and indicted but never went to trial. His trial never took place because he was brutally beaten to death in Providence before his court date. 34 years later, no one has ever been charged with the crime.

    In the time between the night of my assault and the night he was murdered, I lived in fear. I was afraid he was still around town. Afraid he was looking for me. Afraid he would track me down and kill me. The fear didn’t go away when he was murdered. Although he was no longer a threat, the simple life and innocence of a 14-year-old boy was gone forever. Carefree childhood thoughts replaced with the unrelenting realization that my world wasn’t a safe place. My peace shattered by a horrific criminal act of sexual violence.

    Over the past 34 years, I’ve been haunted by horrible, recurring memories of what he did to me. He visits me in my sleep. There have been dreams–nightmares actually–dozens of them, sweat inducing, yelling-in-my-sleep nightmares filled with images and emotions as real as they were when it actually happened. It doesn’t get easier over time. Long dead, he still visits me, silently sneaking up from out of nowhere when I least expect it. From the grave, he sits by my side on the couch every time the evening news reports a child abduction or sex crime. I don’t watch America’s Most Wanted or Law and Order SVU, because the stories are a catalyst, triggering long suppressed emotions, feelings, memories, fear and horror. Real life horror stories rip painful suppressed memories out from where they hide, from that recessed place in my brain that stores dark, dangerous, horrible memories. It happened when William Bonin confessed to abducting, raping and murdering 14 boys in California; when Jesse Timmendequas raped and murdered Megan Kanka in New Jersey; when Ben Ownby, missing for four days, and Shawn Hornbeck, missing for four years, were recovered in Missouri.

    Despite what happened that night and the constant reminders that continue to haunt me years later, I wouldn’t change what happened. The animal that attacked me was a serial predator, a violent pedophile trolling my neighborhood in Lincoln, Rhode Island looking for young boys. He beat me, raped me, and I stayed alive. I lived to see him arrested, indicted and murdered. It might not have turned out this way if he had grabbed one of my friends or another kid from my neighborhood. Perhaps he’d still be alive. Perhaps there would be dozens of more victims and perhaps he would have progressed to the point of silencing his victims by murdering them.

    Out of fear, shame and guilt, I’ve been silent for over three decades, not sharing with anyone the story of what happened to me. No more. The silence has to end. What happened to me wasn’t my fault. The fear, the shame, the guilt have to go. It’s time to stop keeping this secret from the people closest to me, people I care about, people I love, my long-time friends and my family. It’s time to speak out to raise public awareness of male sexual assault, to let other survivors know that they’re not alone and to help survivors of rape and violent crime understand that the emotion, fear and memories that may still haunt them are not uncommon to those of us who have shared a similar experience.

    My novel, Men in My Town, was inspired by these actual events. Men in My Town is available now at

    For those who suffer in silence, I hope my story brings some comfort, strength, peace and hope.

    For additional information, please visit the Men in My Town blog at

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