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Sometimes the universe puts you into a place just so you can bear witness to an injustice.

Today I went to the school to attend my daughter’s send-off. She qualified for state in forensics, so this should have been a moment of celebration. My wife and I watched the ceremony. It was lovely to see her recognized and applauded. When they finished, I walked out to the car to get my daughter’s bags because it’s an overnight trip.

As I was leaving, I heard the sound of whimper. I turned and noticed a young woman who was clearly distraught.

I was uncertain how to respond because above all else I didn’t want to make the situation worse. I didn’t want her to feel unsafe or pestered. But, I knew I couldn’t do nothing. So, in the same voice I use to read to my children, I asked, “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

In the course of about 50 steps she told me that she’d been searched. Somebody had put hands on her. I didn’t find out who, but I could see that this girl felt violated. She was trembling like somebody who had endured an assault.

In that moment I knew I couldn’t offer any effective comfort. I walked beside her keeping an arm’s distance away. The only thing I could think to do was speak.

I said, “I’m sorry this happened to you. The world is not a good place right now. But there are decent people out there trying to make it a better place. I want you to know that you have allies. You are loved. You deserve to be treated better. You are important. I’m sorry this happened.”

She said thank you. Then we parted.

I can tell already I’m going to spend the next few days reflecting on that brief encounter. What else could I have done? What else could I have said? It would have been nice to follow up and makes sure she was okay. But it didn’t occur to me to ask for her name, and even now that question feels like an intrusion.

This was a student. I don’t know if she was a freshman, sophomore, junior or senior. I do know that my community is racist, and the color of her skin brought to mind that of my Latina daughter.

I got the bags and went back to the school. My wife had arrived and she recognized the look of distress on my face. I told her what had happened.

“I saw that girl go by,” she said. My wife notices everything.

“I think I’m going to go and make a statement at the office,” I said. “I want them to know I don’t want them putting hands on kids. This isn’t right. They shouldn’t be allowed assault children and disguise it as a pat down.”

She agreed that this seemed a sensible thing to do. She was going to come with me, but we were waiting for my daughter to get sent off. I tried to wait, but the situation made me too angry, I decided to go alone.

It probably would have been better if my wife had come.

I walked down to the end of the hall. The receptionist looked at me as I came into the office.

“I just wanted to report something,” I said. “I was walking through the parking lot and I met a girl in tears. She acted as if she’d been assaulted and was crying. She said she’d been subjected to a pat down.”

I spoke these words hopeful that they would lead to a positive interaction. But the receptionist became immediately defensive. She told me that they were aware that this had happened. They’d informed the parents. The parents had told the girl to walk home.

That’s when my protective instinct kicked in.

I’m mindful of the fact that I can be intimidating. I wasn’t about to start causing a ruckus or lifting my voice. My wife says that when I’m most angry I speak in a low monotone.

“Well,” I said, “with all that’s going on in society today. I think this situation is unacceptable.”

“Well, you don’t know all the details,” the receptionist said.

“But I believe women,” I replied.

“Well, I do to,” she said.

At this point, I should have taken a page from Will Fullwood and asked, “But do you though? Your actions don’t seem to align with that assertion. Are you truly living in accordance with your personal integrity?”

But I confess that I was starting to lose control of my emotions, and I didn’t wish to linger there.

I just said, “Look, this is not going to happen to my daughter. Don’t put your hands on kids.” Then I paused and added, “I guess that’s all I wanted to say, thank you for listening.”

I was so angry I felt the need to get out of there. There were three white women receptionists, and it didn’t seem as if they cared about whatever had happened to the girl in the parking lot.

I hope I didn’t make things worse for her. I hope I gave the receptionists cause to reflect on whatever choices had been made in the office. I don’t know who patted the girl down. I hope it wasn’t a man.

My jaw was tightly clenched as I made my way back to my wife and daughter. I had to fight back rage tears. I was furious.

It makes me very upset to see children mistreated.

I’m not going to apologize for that. If my anger makes people uncomfortable, all they have to do is stop hurting kids.

My concern is that some resource officer took advantage of his authority and, under the guise of a pat down, raped that student.

There’s nothing she could have been carrying that would represent a more serious crime than that. Our society has everything all backwards. We bow down to cruel authoritarians and child rapists, whom we never hold accountable, and we always make the kids pay.

Unacceptable.

My daughter saw me coming and she had the impression that daddy was okay. My wife saw me coming and knew that I was holding back a tidal wave of rage. “Okay, let’s go,” she said.

I embraced my daughter and told her good luck. We left. I drove home.

At home, I told my wife what had happened.

“What do you think will come of this?” She works in a school district and she has a better sense of office politics. She knew the receptionists, because she’d done her student teaching at that school.

“What you said will probably remain between the three of them and never go any further,” she replied.

I don’t know how to feel about that.

What’s really upsetting to me is that this whole conversation pivoted on my declaration of “I believe women,” with regard to a child who had clearly been assaulted. Yet my concerns were met not with understanding, but open hostility.

There are too many people who are content to punish children rather than help them. But you shouldn’t kick them out of a public school crying into the parking lot and hope they get home okay.

I know there are many kids in my daughter’s school who don’t have families who will advocate for them. In light of this, we need more people who are willing to stand up and defend the rights even of children they do not know.

The lives of children matter.

Children shouldn’t be expected to endure an assault because they’re suspected of a crime.

Children, too, have rights.

They have rights, but in this cruel society, they don’t have power. We have to give children power.

I feel this whole scenario provides a strong example of why we’re living in a society that’s dominated by an abhorrent rape culture. Everywhere we look, rapists are allowed to go free. Young men are emboldened, even encouraged, to treat women like objects. Men grow up and take their wives on vacation with the intent to murder them.

It all grows from the corrupt origin of authority figures who are allowed to commit transgressions against the innocent. How many police officers rape children under the pretext of looking for contraband? Why are so many adults passive enablers of this systemic abuse and cruelty?

As I write this, I continue to reflect on my response. I don’t even know what appropriate actions I could have taken. I don’t know if I did the right thing.

I don’t know if I could have done a better job.

But at least I did something.

God damn it, at least I did that.

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