Love WITH Accountability: Digging up the Roots of Child Sexual Abuse

by Aishah Shahidah Simmons (Editor), Darnell L. Moore (Foreword)

Despite the current survivor-affirming awareness around sexual violence, child sexual abuse, most notably when it’s a family member or friend, is still a very taboo topic. There are approximately 42 million child sexual abuse survivors in the U.S. and millions of bystanders who look the other way as the abuse occurs and cover for the harm-doers with no accountability. Documentary filmmaker and survivor of child sexual abuse and adult rape, Aishah Shahidah Simmons invites diasporic Black people to join her in transformative storytelling that envisions a world that ends child sexual abuse without relying on the criminal justice system. Love WITH Accountability features compelling writings by child sexual abuse survivors, advocates, and Simmons’s mother, who underscores the detrimental impact of parents/caregivers not believing their children when they disclose their sexual abuse. This collection explores disrupting the inhumane epidemic of child sexual abuse, humanely.

Genres: Nonfiction, Essays, Feminism, Social Justice, Mental Health, Psychology, Self Help

286 pages, Kindle Edition

First published October 1, 2019

Reviews

[Bogi Takács]

Powerful essay collection about child sexual abuse by Black survivors - it's queer- and trans-inclusive too. I am very glad this discussion is going on. I especially appreciated the analyses of the role of religion, and the tension between trying to avoid interacting with the police, but wanting to see people brought to justice.

(As a non-Black, formerly Orthodox, Jewish person, while the specific details are obviously very different, I have seen both of these types of processes play out in Chareidi communities - but with no book like this to reflect on what's going on. So I found it helpful in that context too.)

I appreciated the reminders between every few chapters to "Breathe", I needed that.

Also, I just read Akwaeke Emezi's Pet, another 2019 book about similar topics but young adult fiction, and I think these two books pair well.
_____
Source of the book: Anonymous Benefactor (I know who, but I've been asked not to disclose)

[Ashton · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a must-read. As a person who strives to create a radically compassionate and just world, I have come away from “love WITH accountability” with more perspective and passion for this work than I have with any book before. This anthology of essays is a heavy read — take advantage of the “breathe” pages between every 5 chapters, something I really loved about the book — but provides so much to feel and consider and swallow. The harsh reality is that CSA is so endemic to our society that we can no longer approach people who commit CSA as outliers or exceptions to the rule: they are our family members, friends, neighbors, teachers, coaches, priests, and everyone else who has regular access to children (to paraphrase what several of these essays emphasize). Structurally, we cannot rely on the punitive justice system to solve the problem of CSA. We need a revolution in the way we think about harm and healing.

The many stories and memories recalled in “love WITH accountability” must be held tenderly, and the furious calls to action must be taken up with full force. I think it’s especially necessary for white people like myself to approach this book from a firmly anti-racist, anti-sexist standpoint and allow ourselves to deeply internalize the harm that Black women and femmes face under the oppressive conditions of patriarchal white supremacy. White people are particularly conditioned to discount the pain and reject or pathologize the emotions of BIPOC — we must actively work to graciously receive and hold BIPOC stories of struggle and resilience, as well as actively work to end ongoing racist oppressive practices in society and ourselves.

I have so much more to say about this book, but for now I’ll just leave you with this beautiful passage from e nina jay’s “Whose Child Is This? She Is Mine”:

“I believe that we are our most powerful when we are able to embrace every inch of ourselves. I believe our collective loving and healing lies in our ability to acknowledge who we dreamed to be, what has interrupted that dream, and who it is that we are now, as individuals and as a community. I believe it is possible to turn pain into power, and this is not a metaphor. I believe pain unspoken can never be transformed into power, and true power cannot be held inside the same hands as secrets.” (p. 74)

[Ai Miller · Rating 5 out of 5]

Just an incredible and incredibly important read. So many narratives about how to support survivors of child sexual abuse from Black people, mostly cis women but also trans women and a few men. Theres's a wide variety here regarding solutions and dreaming of what is possible--some carceral, but also transformative and reparative justice arise as possible solutions. Important to see the ways in which many of the solutions overlap around upfront sexual education as well as material ways in which believing children and building trust that children WILL be believed can take shape.

So grateful to have this collection out in the world, and definitely recommend folks pick it up to hear from survivors what they need and want, and how they're imagining a better world.

[saddestgirlindandenong · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is an urgent read. In Digging up the roots of Child Sexual Assault there are so many things to see and learn about what love and accountability looks like in relation to: transformative justice, parenting, colonisation, consent, disclosure, abolition, silence, language, community and healing. The amount of love, care and consideration put together in this collection of voices is evident throughout. Aishah Shahidah Simmons choosing to prioritise inclusivity in these accounts and experiences provides an extremely important reminder that “LGBTQIAA survivors of colour have been the backbone of the anti-violence movement” (Jennifer Patternson). There is hope, there are answers, we have to listen and act now.

[Marina · Rating 5 out of 5]

Never read anything quite like this - a compilation of essays from Black survivors that specifically addresses the systemic forces fueling the forced silence around childhood sexual abuse AND discusses how communities can come together to heal afterwards. That said, it's also a very heavy book and took me a long time to read, because reading a few stories back-to-back got overwhelming fast. Here's my surface level summary:

1. What does love with accountability look like?
a. A compass in our hands gives us longitude and latitude as well as the four directions: north, east, south, and west, and all the space in between, in order to go to those difficult and challenging places in the far reaches of the globe. Compassion in our hands gives us integrity, intention, an attitude of gratitude, and all the space in between, in order to go to those difficult and challenging places in the far reaches of ourselves. Like a compass and its four directions, compassion has four directives:
i. See/witness/acknowledge
ii. Feel/sympathize
iii. Wish to relieve the suffering
iv. Act/do something
b. “You have to believe that people have the capacity to change, while understanding that not everyone will. You have to believe that if we help people heal from their own hurts, they can recognize how they have taken those hurts out on others. They can start to change their behaviors.”
c. “If I want to live free from these diseases, I must be willing to learn how to each day genuinely love and be accountable to myself first and foremost. Initially, I was introduced to accountability through activism. Negligence propelled me to action. I was learning how to demand through political action that state authorities and local police forces take responsibility for racial disparities and other injustices, in public education and especially in regard to the killings of unarmed Black and Indigenous people. However, I soon realized that if I want others to be accountable, I must also ensure that I am held accountable for my actions. What have I done to wrong others, including myself? And what do I have to do to keep my side of the street clean?”
d. “Accountability is a way of loving ourselves and being in meaningful relationship and connection with others after the storm. Love makes space for truth, and the truth is the only way toward restorative reconciliation. This is particularly important in cases when abusers and survivors continue to be in a relationship. Restorative reconciliation says, “You did this to me, you are sorry, and neither of us has to be defined by the worst thing you ever did.”
e. “Measuring whether we are loving with accountability is simple. Did we create, hold, and maintain a safe and sacred space? Did we increase connections? Did we encourage healing? Did we learn something new, share a story, hold a hand, hug with consent, free a tortured soul, honor our history, and embrace our culture? Did we allow a survivor to be in the space without forcing a disclosure because we know that being present is enough? Were we able to identify action steps to collectively take in our lives? Were we intentional in removing the shame and guilt associated with being sexually assaulted as a child? Were we able to offer more than community policing as an option for safety? Have we had the chance to release our stories that have been killing us, slowly and ever so softly? Too often we have been taught and expected to take trauma to our graves. Loving with accountability occurs when we are all intentionally moving into our healing harmoniously, identifying the wrongs, celebrating the rights, peeling the layers back, and, in a safe space, challenging and even removing the stereotypes and stigmas. It’s embracing our capacity to love again and ultimately to restore, rebuild, and rejoice.”

2. What does love with accountability NOT look like?
a. “Accountability, more often than not, has been experienced as a form of punishment in response to wrong-doings. Accountability has been reduced to the aftermath: the reactionary process of blame and shame, often through call-outs—and more recently, “call-ins”—to address the misstep. This process is underutilizing the potential of accountability. Accountability should be a part of the very foundation of how we interact with one another. It should be how we come to expect respect as part of our culture, communication, and problem-solving. Love cannot be maintained without accountability. Accountability, in essence, should be experienced as proactive and reactive, never reactive alone.”
b. “Accountability to me is a gift that simultaneously acknowledges and halts harm done to restore love and lost trust. However, I am not searching for any accountability from anyone or anything that I do not have love for and doesn’t in turn have love for me. Similarly, I am not searching for accountability from a state or its system that terrorizes its people and that teaches us and socializes us into these terrible ways of relating to one another.”
c. “I can’t dictate how people choose to live. I can only assist in their own process of realization, I cannot force it. Hence, I don’t need an “apology” to actually heal. I don’t need an external recognition to liberate myself. Amends are actually for the harm-doer, not for the one harmed. One must be willing, not forced, to amend one’s past in order to welcome one’s future, because coercive accountability, if you will, is very temporary and also inauthentic.”

3. What is the role of silence in allowing interpersonal harm to continue?
a. Silence is another form of harm, sometimes more painful than the original trauma
i. “The foundation of my existence had a gaping hole devoid of healthy love, let alone accountability. After disclosing to my mother that my grandfather molested me, I still found myself at my grandparent’s house, seated next to him at the family’s Thanksgiving dinner. The silence was excruciating. More painful than the incest itself.”
b. Silence allows people to get away with thoughts & prayers or total avoidance and inaction
i. “I do not enable those I love to destroy their lives and the lives of others. I resist the comfort of silence and refuse to leave them to cause harm further. As a family, community, and society, we have to go beyond hoping our loved ones who have committed abuse will change. We have to choose to love them enough to wade into the difficult waters for the safety of our children. An African proverb says, “When you pray, move your feet.” Our children’s lives, bodies, minds, hearts, and spirits matter. Our faith in abusive loved ones without the work of accountability leaves us all unsaved.”

4. What usually happens when survivors speak up?
a. They’re considered burdens or difficult
i. “Autistic children are accused of being burdens to our parents and families. We are asked to be thankful when we are not murdered by their hands. We are asked to keep still when we stim, calm down during a meltdown, be quiet when we are echolalic, and stop any ticks or repetitive movements that adults find objectionable. These messages are violent and justify violence against autistic people. They express beliefs that allow child sexual abuse to continue. When we ask children to be things that they are not, and to express themselves only in ways that we deem appropriate, we communicate the message that what we want for their bodies is more important than their self-determination. If we truly want to end child sexual abuse, we need to recognize the autonomy children have over their own bodies.”
b. They’re told to get over it or move on
i. “I have been accused of living in the past when I disclose my being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The ease with which I now disclose having been raped as a child by an adult male family member is uncomfortable for many people to hear, even when we are actually talking about incidents of childhood rape. Sometimes there is an audible gasp, accompanied by a physical pulling back. Often there is simply silence or a cliché offered to pack up the disclosure. Something like: “You have to stop living in the past,” or, “It’s time you got over that and moved on.” Our personal histories, like our collective histories, are living things. They shape our present and, if left unexamined and untended, lay the foundation for our future.”
c. It’s not possible/not that bad/be grateful you’re okay now
i. “This same rhetoric is often used to fill the uncomfortable space that exists in communities where sexual assault (primarily during childhood) has occurred. It is known by clichés such as “God is good all the time, and all the time God is good”; “God won’t put more on you than you can bear”; “All things work together for the good of them who love the Lord”; “Just pray about it”; and other biblically based phrases and sayings. Using these clichés—rather than engaging violations and violators head on—often discourages victims from speaking out about their abuse and their abusers.”

5. Why is it especially hard for Black and Brown survivors to speak up?
a. “Rape and sexual assault are white preoccupations that distract, because “if you loved your community, you would be silent.”
b. “The majority of us are taught from birth that regardless of any transgression we may experience at the hands of a family member, we must protect the family at all cost. Love is all too often used as a weapon against survivors of abuse. “If you love me, if you love this family, you wouldn’t tell,” is a familiar sentiment I’ve repeatedly come across in the anti-violence movement within LGBTQ communities.”
c. “Being raised as a good southern girl taught me that compliance leads to success. While that was true for me, it was also the prayers and support from my village that I credit for our success. I vowed to teach every other Black and Brown young person that we are better and greater than compliance. YAI’s “love with accountability” is the stage to embody your full self, knowing that your village is there to uplift you. YAI as an institute is about nurturing the gifts of each person, recognizing that the skin they were born into is no coincidence. We were born with enough, and our role is to provide both the opportunity and platform to showcase those gifts. The last seven years have been a lesson in love. It is okay to love someone or something, but loving them, or it, without accountability could be detrimental. As we open ourselves up for new beginnings, we will courageously demonstrate love with accountability.”

6. Why does giving birth stir up old traumas for many women?
a. “A wise birth worker once told me that the same muscles that are impacted by trauma must be used to pass a child through a woman’s body. In her book With Harp and Sword: A Doula’s Guide to Providing Trauma-Informed Birth Support, Kenya Fairley takes stock of the lives of pregnant survivors in the second part of the book. As she writes in the book’s introduction, “For pregnant survivors, the impact sexual violence may have on women’s pregnancy and labor can include: disbelief about the pregnancy, increasing anxiety related to her ever-changing body, unfamiliar sensations in the pelvic and vaginal areas [that] may reactivate trauma, emotional disconnection to her growing baby, trepidation and fear about the birth and experience, flashbacks, nightmares, disturbed sleep patterns, harmful coping practices, delayed access to prenatal and maternal health care.”75 This is not even an exhaustive list of all of the things that pregnant survivors can encounter emotionally, spiritually, and physically.”
b. “The high level of disturbance to the body and the psyche after trauma occurs in pregnancy and extends to labor and delivery. Fairley writes in depth about the triggers and problems that can arise, stalling labor, and sometimes leading to unexpected outcomes. She posits trauma-informed care as a beneficial strategy for all women given the high prevalence of abuse and violence against them.”
c. “This is so important because “survivors may feel out of control of their body and/or mind.” Fairly writes that, “standard positions for birth may increase vulnerability, exposure, and loss of dignity and modesty, [and] use of dim lighting or closed doors, [and] small spaces may trigger painful memories.”

7. Why isn’t prison or legal consequences enough to make survivors feel heard and taken care of?
a. “We all have an aversion to punishment. We learn these patterns of punishment as children; they show up in our homes, schools, and larger communities. The conflation of discipline/punishment, power/abuse, and structure/fear becomes normalized. So much “order” in our society is maintained not by people’s desire to genuinely to do the right thing, but rather by people’s desire to not get caught for doing the wrong thing. So what happens when young people experience harm from the people who are supposed to protect them? These conflated ideas and patterns teach young people that any harm they experience is brought on by themselves. They too must “maintain” order in their families, and if they challenge any behavior that has become normalized, they become a disruption to the family.”
b. “Negative reinforcement doesn’t help people change their behavior, whether they have caused or received the harm. People do not learn through shame. But our (in)justice system is set up in such a way that it isolates both the people who have caused harm and the survivors. It is set up to scare people into changing, through the negative consequences of their actions, rather than to confront the issues that set the conditions for abuse.”
c. “Most survivors want acknowledgment of what has been done to them and only endorse the incarceration of offenders who they believe remain a risk of re-offending them or others.”

8. What does healing from trauma feel like or look like?
a. “When our survivors who participate in our groups are ready, we invite them to challenge themselves to answer the question, “What is the good news?” We know that through all the pain, sorrow, memories, and triggers there is some good news. This may include anything from focusing solely on the breath in the body to being able to experience the sunrise, sunset, and everything in between.”
b. “So when asked to address “love with accountability,” I begin with the love of self, which is something denied to, and also denied by, many survivors. For me, self-love and self-care is more than pampering. It is connecting with the self on every level—mind, body, and soul—and with meeting the needs of the self. When we disclose the abuse we experience as children, and the abuse is allowed to continue or we must continue to interact with our abusers, we receive the message that our safety and our needs are not important. It is a message that occurs so early in life that, tragically, for many of us it becomes a core truth, even if we can’t articulate it. Our healing begins with the awareness that we are valuable, mind, body, and soul.”

9. Why is community valuable for a single person’s healing?
a. The community allowed for the trauma to happen and needs to make systemic changes so it won’t be overlooked or allowed in the future. It is important that communities grow in this direction rather than blaming survivors for lashing out or telling the truth.
i. “What I know for certain is that if you don’t heal from what cut you, you will bleed on the people who did not hurt you. Through compassionate accountability, we can honor our wounds and stop the bleeding. If it takes a village to raise a child, it will take compassionate accountability to heal a family, and by extension a community. Healing is possible. We also must always remember there isn’t a straight path to healing.”
ii. “Personally, I believe that the accountability model is a conservative and confessional one. It stops at the level of admitting to the violence—an important step but only the first one. When I hear about “community accountability,” what I think people mean is that the whole community will work to hold a single person “accountable” to a harmful action or series of actions. This model forgets that abuse thrives in silence and isolation, and that can only occur when a community turns away from great injustice. Thus, whole communities are implicated in all instances of child sexual abuse. I don’t need anyone to confess their guilt publicly—I already know who harmed me, and in many cases, so does everyone else. I need a community where everyone recognizes the role they played in that violation.”
b. It’s validation of your value as a human and a part of something greater than yourself.
i. “Recently I watched a fascinating video of fire ants in action. Fire ants work together in such a closely coordinated way that when in danger they can become a moving, protected, semisolid structure. Yet when a barrier falls in their way, like a tree branch, they are able to navigate around the barrier in a way that behaves almost like water. And not one ant gets left behind. What if all our networks of care could be like the fire ants? Solid and coordinated but adaptable and responsive to need? What if they all centered on safety, rehabilitation, accountability, and healing—creating communities where child sexual abuse is not just no longer tolerated but is also eradicated? Where those of us who have survived are not left to pick up the pieces of our shame alone but are met with a chorus of “we believe you” and “it’s not your fault.” Where people recognize that when violence happens, the whole community needs healing.”

10. How do we support our children so they are less likely to face these issues?
a. Knowing we’re not perfect or infallible, and that’s not what kids need from them. More importantly, we can accompany our children through their ups and downs, being present, honest, and respectful.
i. “As a mother myself, I am also trying to be accountable to my own children. I have not always gotten things right with them. However, my relationship with my children is less about getting things right and more about how we journey through life, grow, and navigate the world.”
b. Stopping cycles of violence and/or silence so that the next generation doesn’t have to figure this out from scratch
i. “I do not believe that justice has been served, but I do believe that I am using the pain and anguish I suffered to transform the prospects for future generations of my family.”
c. Facing adult privilege and acknowledging the need to respect children
i. “The question of accountability as a radical form of love makes me think about my childhood and the way many children of my generation were raised. To me, linking punishment, accountability,

[Andrew · Rating 3 out of 5]

Learned about this volume of essays from Noname's Book Club.

A difficult and frustrating read. Difficult primarily because there are 40 essays here, and nearly every essayist is a survivor or experiencer of CSA and many of the essays open with a personal narrative that delves into the abuse and the suffering surrounding it. That's a lot to take in. The book isn't organized into sections, but every five essays, editor Simmons has wisely built in pauses - a blank page with the word "breathe." It's not easy to overlap with the trauma of others, and then to think about the issues connected to trying to remedy the pain or prevent further harm is not an idle mental exercise but also can cause stress.

The frustration comes with the "thinking about the issues" aspect of the collection. The book is intended as an exploration of the question, "What is the humane way to disrupt the inhumane epidemic of CSA?" The phrase "love with accountability" is used as an organizing principle; it suggests a perspective informed by the Transformative Justice or Restorative Justice movements that involve communities organizing themselves to prevent abuse and facilitate healing after abuse without relying on the criminal justice system. Since Simmons' project is predicated on letting survivors speak from their own perspectives, without predefining those perspectives, there's an inevitable dimension of groping in this collection whenever the essayists move from telling their own narratives to talking more broadly about solutions.

No two essayists have the same understanding of what "love with accountability" means, which is not a bad thing, but it means there is a lot of redundancy between essays, and, more damagingly, there is no shared language or more specific set of questions that would enable the essays to disagree with each other in an illuminating way. This is best seen as a collection of personal perspectives that represents a larger effort to try and find solutions.

[Quin Rich · Rating 4 out of 5]

Somewhat disappointed by this one.

I was expecting a deeper discussion of what the editor means by “love with accountability.” Instead, this volume focuses mostly on the aspects of naming and healing from child sexual abuse, especially within the context of the Black community. That’s a very important and necessary contribution. Nonetheless, the question of how accountability actually works and what it means nagged at me throughout.

I feel this question of accountability is better addressed by other volumes, like Beyond Survival, The Revolution Starts at Home, and Feminist Accountability (Ann Russo), the first of which the editor of this volume actually recommends you read alongside Love with Accountability.

If you’re looking for a volume of survivor testimony, particularly from Black survivors, this is an excellent contribution. But for the difficult questions of how to actually intervene to stop child sexual abuse, this volume offers little in the way of specifics.

[Frances · Rating 4 out of 5]

As a survivor of CSA, I appreciated this book very much. I especially appreciated the fact that the anthology was by survivors of color; that's a perspective we often don't see.

I thought the conversations around non-carceral justice very interesting and insightful. I also liked how some essays went past the question of "What do we do now?" to "What does a just future look like?"

I have always thought that we would be better served as a society if we put more efforts in providing support for abusers. I understand the importance of centering CSA work around survivors, but I believe if we are to truly address the root causes of pedophilia and abuse, we should (1) perform research into the causes of pedophilia and abuse to understand how it works and how it can be treated and (2) "de-taboo" pedophilia and abuse so that people who are abusing others can get the help they need. I know this sounds fucked up and as if I'm putting the needs of pedophiles and abusers above those of survivors: I am not. I'm a survivor and I have thought about what an effective approach could look like since my early teens. I am looking at the situation realistically. I believe that abuse is like a stone being dropped into water--the stone is the abuser and its ripples are survivors' experiences. And while the rock sinks to the bottom of the lake never to be seen or addressed, the ripples remain: abusers rarely need to face what they've done publicly because survivors are shamed into silence. Abusers remain under the surface of the water, where they're not thought about. What would happen if we figured out a way to stop the rock from dropping in the first place?

That being said, some of the essays struck me as naive in their proposed treatment of pedophiles and abusers. For instance, in the essay "Thoughts on Discipline, Justice, Love, and Accountability," the author writes:

"You have to believe that people have the capacity to change, while understanding that not everyone will. You have to believe that if we help people heal from their hurts, they can recognize how they have taken those hurts out on others. They can start to change their behaviors."

Thoughts such as these pepper the book and I believe they are dangerous. You cannot love or support someone out of pedophilia, just as you cannot love or support someone out of addiction. Of course, both illnesses require support and love, but that's simply not how it works. As with addiction, we don't really know what works, but if pedophilia and addiction were illnesses that could be solved by love and support, then neither would exist, at least not in the proportions we see today. My purpose in comparing pedophilia and addiction is not to equate the two, but to stress how harm reduction is the way forward: recognizing realities and getting to root causes in order to help prevent the possibility of harm. Currently, CSA is only addressed when harm has already been done.

[Melinda Goodman · Rating 5 out of 5]

Love with Accountability
Edited by Aishah Shahidah Simmons and Darnell L. Moore

What an important and useful book! It deals with childhood sexual abuse in a way that approaches it as a community problem that needs a community solution. It encourages healing for the survivors in a way that encourages speaking out and being heard instead of struggling alone in shame, anger and sorrow. Easier said than done because the community often does not want to hear and acknowledge the pain of survivors and is prone to even blaming the victims for the abuse they suffered.
This book contains testimonies by survivors who have processed and continue to process what they experienced despite the fact that they have been scared to speak up and may also have been too frightened to acknowledge to themselves the full range of how they were abused. Sometimes the worst part of the abuse was that the survivors did speak up and were ignored, shut down, or condemned by the very people to whom they went for help.
I’m so grateful for the existence of this text. As a teacher of Creative Writing I hear from students in the early stages of finding a voice to talk about the patterns of ignorance, prejudice, and neglect that enabled the abuse to happen, continue, and expand into self destructive thought patterns and behaviors. The ways we learn to “self medicate” to survive can become the ripples of the original abuse that leads to our destruction. Childhood sexual abuse is a complex epidemic. Often we loved and/or felt loved by our perpetrators. As children we can be so needy that any attention might be welcomed (and even necessary for survival) at a certain time. There are so many complicated hurdles to grapple with in order to reach an effective level of self-care and self respect. This book is a powerful call for Love With Accountability” as the ultimate tool for individual and community healing.
A very unusual aspect of this collection is that it can be used as a jumping off point not only for survivors and their helpers, friends, and families, but also for those who are committed to really coming to grips with and making amends for how they have purposely or unwittingly caused deep harm to children and the community at large.

[Ashley Nichols · Rating 5 out of 5]

I thought I found this book by accident. I was searching for a free book about the symptoms of CSA, and the library gave me this gem. It’s a collection of stories of CSA written by ppl of color who want to see transformative justice because ppl of color have issues when calling the police. Yes even for CSA. BLM is a say for a reason y’all. It was hard to read the stories of black pain, and I often felt like this might not be for me to read. But the situations of abuse are universal. My daughter’s father is abusive solely towards me, I think and hope, and I read her an excerpt about how one survivor in a similar situation wondered why her mother never hit back. She resented her mother for never standing up to the abuse. It opened up good conversation with my daughter and within myself. Which the book advocates for throughout. It also reminds you to breath. When I was in middle school and just researching socialism I became a passionate advocate for transformative justice and abolishing modern American slavery. Unfortunately this got lost in all the other battles and social work jobs I tried to take on, and I had not thought about TJ since high school. I think everyone should read this book until Black Lives Matter.

[Maggie Destinee Sanchez · Rating 5 out of 5]

I genuinely appreciate Simmons' reminders to "Breathe" throughout the chapters as this collection bears immense wisdom which is meant to be ruminated on. The interjections allow space for internal, as well as external processing in hopes of using this piece as a resource to help create accountable, safe, and free spaces for children to exist in without the threat of sexual abuse. Simmons et. al., use this book to share the process of healing by affirming the experiences of those who have endured Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) in a way that validates their experiences and shows them that they are survivors with potential to exhibit insurmountable resiliency. The stories in this book lift up Black/Indigenous/POC, LGBTQIA+ h*stories, traditions, and culture in a way that is meant to honor and respect those who survive CSA and other related forms of abuse. I am filled with gratitude for the work that was put into articulating these stories in order to break cycles of abuse and envision a world where transformative justice can be centered around pursuing accountability in partnership with those who do wrong. The piece acknowledges that healing and justice looks different for many, but ultimately everyone should have the choice to be free from the violence and manipulation that is CSA. Mel Anthony Phillips described this piece as "one of the best anthologies of all time"--I am unable to describe it any other way. A true tool for collective healing and a must read. Thank you.

[Mollyhodg · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a great follow-up read to Angela Davis's "Are Prisons Obsolete?" A common thought I had while reading Davis's book was, "Okay, decriminalize drugs, but what do we do about people who commit assault?"

Love WITH Accountability delves into who needs to be held accountable and what that could look like for each person. Holding the person who committed assault accountable could look like them going to therapy and/or admitting to the harm they caused. Holding the surrounding community accountable may look like not allowing anyone to turn a blind eye and/or having the community be active in providing preventative care for at-risk individuals. Holding oneself accountable may look like taking care of oneself and not further perpetuating generational abuse.

I would not recommend reading if personal accounts of assault would be triggering.

[Librarian Alicia · Rating 5 out of 5]

I highly recommend this book. How our society responds to the harms committed against each other, especially by how the carceral state is weaponized against marginalized communities (especially Black and Indigenous communities) is inadequate at best and genocidal at worst and does nothing to actually prevent or end violence, including CSA. This book provides some insight on how transformative and restorative justice can be used to respond to CSA. Though some of the writers feel that it is best to use what limited resources are available including this carceral state to hold CSA abusers, they still offer great insight into how communities and families should respond to revelations of CSA.
However, there a detailed depictions of the CSA incident(s) that these survivors endured and this may be challenging for other survivors.

[Nora]

I wasnt finished with this book, tbh, but I had to be finished with it because I can't read the same thing over and over again, which is not to say it wasnt a good book, just that it's truly heartbreaking to read about how systems fail rape survivors over and over again. As a survivor it's a hard read for me because it does explore what accountability could look like after harm, and I'm not there yet. However, to me, it's not an instructional guide on love with accountability, or maybe it is but it's not structural enough for me, which is kind of disappointing.

[Mel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Its always difficult to rate an anthology. One of my criteria is whether or not I would recommend it to ppl. The answer here is yes. We all need to be listening to ppl who have experienced abuse and are able and willing to share their stories. That's especially true when those ppl are working towards different visions of accountability.

[Edith · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved loved loved this book!!!

Extreme trigger warning, when the book tells you to “Breathe,” i highly suggest you do so. This book isn’t one you read in one sitting, and be soft and gentle with yourself as you’re reading. An excellent anthology, I’m forever grateful to the contributors.

[Elena Box · Rating 4 out of 5]

Well done though tough to read for anyone with proximity to sexual abuse in families. Worth the perspective on loving someone and accepting their wrongdoings. A proposed path forward with the use of restorative justice over law enforcement.

[Ryan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Decent book, but the title is slightly misleading and 95% of the essays were already published

[Steven Ridgely · Rating 4 out of 5]

Good information

[Zen Lara · Rating 5 out of 5]

These essays are transformative and healing and challenging. So grateful to have this work out there.

[Michael Sasson · Rating 5 out of 5]

p5 [...] grounded in a Black feminist vision of a type of love that costs us something.
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And it doesn't disappoint (ok, a few of the 40 essays seemed less compelling to me but still...)

[sophia · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderfully in-depth look at the damage of perpetuating a safe space for those who harm us.