Relative Something

First off, I gotta say the Holman’s Table restaurant at St. Paul’s downtown airport is a winner in every category. Once you get past the understandable questions of whether you are in the right place as you navigate the final turns to reach the front door, everything else is sublime, from the decor to the menu. We had a great time at brunch yesterday morning.

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Last week, the news story about four elite gymnasts testifying before the Senate Judiciary Committee struck a nerve. We’ve been aware of the story of their abuse by now-convicted abuser Larry Nassar for years. It’s almost too harsh to contemplate, so when the news dies down, we gladly disregard the horror.

The new investigation into the handling of the accusations by the FBI and USA Gymnastics has brought the awfulness back to the forefront. It was almost a year after learning of the accusations before the FBI opened an investigation. It is estimated an additional 70 gymnasts were abused by him during that time.

While listening to a report describing the four gymnasts needing to recount their abuse one more time last week, this thought occurred to me: Their experience was like being tortured repeatedly after they summoned the courage to report the initial abuse.

Logic tells us they are not the only abuse victims who have dealt with this.

Imagine if you suffered a terrible injury in a remote wilderness, waiting days or weeks to be found by someone, wondering if you would survive long enough for help to arrive. It’s the stuff of countless book or film dramas. Eventually, you are discovered and relief is beyond measure. It becomes the pinnacle of these dramas. You are rescued!

Now, imagine if the people who found you don’t do anything after finding you.

Picture yourself laying there for almost another year before they start planning how they will rescue you.

That is the story of the victims of Larry Nassar and every other person whose story of abuse has fallen on deaf ears.

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