The Baptism
Revisiting a Childhood Nightmare
Visit Misty Griffin's exclusive photo gallery at the end of this book to see photograph from her Amish childhood through to present day.
Foremost, I would like to stress that not every Amish community is like the one I lived in. My community was one of the strictest sects within the stricter half of the Amish.
While the fundamentals in all Amish communities are consistent, it can be said that the level of abuse becomes greater depending upon the stringency of the particular group. Some of the most progressive Amish have taken pains to raise awareness about the issue of sexual assault and child abuse. In more modern churches, there is greater likelihood of action, usually some form of counseling for the victim and rapist. (In rare cases the authorities have been contacted.) While this may not be much, it is, at least, some form of acknowledgment for the victim.
But the reality remains: most Amish rape or child abuse victims have no resources. It is a scary reality: a place where the Amish rules outweigh any form of crime. Sexual violence and animal abuse run rampant, and the worldly outside authorities may not be called. Shunning is the only punishment, but a few weeks is such a light sentence for a rapist and, from what I have seen, it never works.
In light of these facts, there are many Amish who actually wish to enact change but are afraid to break church rules for fear they will go to hell or be shunned. Thus, the cycle continues. The good people are forced to suffer in silence or leave; those are the only two options.
In conclusion: I did not write my story to point the finger at certain individuals or only at the Amish. Rather it is an attempt to raise awareness about child abuse and sexual assault. I hope child abuse and sexual assault survivors will take heart from my story and move past their pain to embrace their dreams. I encourage everyone: Never turn a blind eye towards child abuse. Please be a hero and report; you may be that child’s last chance.
There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of hell.
—Edgar Allan Poe
I trembled as I walked into the small police station. It seemed to have only two or three rooms in it. The town had fewer than two thousand residents, so I figured its size was due to a low crime rate. I walked through the front door and went over to a heavy wooden counter where a middle-aged policewoman sat at a computer. She looked up and her expression turned to surprise as she took in my appearance.
I imagined I was very different from most of the people that normally walked up to her desk. I was a young Amish woman, just a little over five feet tall, wearing an ankle-length, plain, teal-colored dress and apron. I had on knee-length black socks and black shoes, and my coat was of homemade denim with a high collar and hooks and eyes to hold the front closed. On my head, a stiff, white Amish Kapp covered nearly all my hair; it was tied in a small bow under my chin. I was shaking as I stood there, trying to get up enough courage to say something, but my mouth was so dry I could not form any words.
“Can I help you with something, honey?” the woman asked as she took off her reading glasses.
Her bright blue eyes crinkled up on the sides when she smiled. She seems like a nice lady, I thought, and I felt a little better.
“Um,” I swallowed hard. I tried to block out the mental image of being put in the Bann—shunned. “Um,” I repeated. I placed my trembling hands on the counter top.
“Yes, dear. What is it?” the woman asked.
“Um… I would like to talk to the police, please,” I said, pressing my hands down on the counter to stop them from shaking.
“Okay, in regard to what?”
I hesitated. “I need to talk to someone because the bishop of my church attacked me and is threatening to kill me, and I think he is also poisoning his wife and molesting his daughters.”
The woman raised her eyebrows in shock. After looking at me for another moment, she got up and came around the counter.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asked as she reached out to put an arm around my shoulders.
I backed up, not wanting her to touch me. I saw her nod as if she had seen this reaction before.
I was not sure I was doing the right thing. I had witnessed so much abuse and pain in my life, and I just felt I could no longer keep silent.
If an Amish man in my church confessed to rape or molestation, he would only be shunned for six weeks. Going to the police was strictly frowned on and anyone who did so was risking being placed in the Bann or would at least be permanently stigmatized
