When we read news stories about male teachers sexually abusing their female students, we are outraged and demand justice for the victim. When the gender roles are reversed, however, there’s a tendency for people to laugh it off, to suggest that the boy probably enjoyed every minute of it. But abuse is abuse, and rape is rape, regardless of who is in the position of power.
Joe Gibson was a 17-year-old student at one of England’s top public schools in the early 1990s when he was groomed by Miss P, a teacher more than twice his age. Her abuse was as much mental as physical. He submitted to her rules, kept their relationship secret, and even ate food he didn’t like in order not to upset her.
What’s shocking is how many adults knew what was going on but looked away, for Gibson wasn’t just being groomed by his teacher for sex, he was being groomed by the school for a place in Oxford. He was a body to her and a brain to them, an important addition to their Oxbridge numbers.
When Miss P takes him to Spain, they spend most of their time with her adult friends, none of whom seems remotely concerned by what’s going on before their eyes. Only one has the strength of character to pull the boy aside and whisper in his ear, Eres demasiado joven —You’re too young. But nothing changes. They return to England and, in a horrific sequence of events, Miss P orchestrates their engagement.
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Seventeen is a terribly sad book that contains not an ounce of self-pity. In his author biography, Gibson lists some of the things he could have been — a dancer, pianist, Formula One driver — had his youth not been stolen from him. He might not have achieved those goals, but by writing such a brave and honest book, he has given hope to anyone who has suffered any level of abuse. The scar tissue will always be there, and some days it’s a little more sensitive to the touch, but Gibson shows us that survivors can find a path towards peace.
I can’t remember the last time, if ever, a memoir affected me as deeply as Seventeen
