A Culture of Complicity

There is nothing about it that is easy. Nothing about it that is acceptable. But there are things that are clear. That is, they are clearer now. And of course, there are things that are wrong. Obviously, unequivocally wrong. There are so many of those things. So many egregious violations. So many ways this particular sexual assault victim — this child — was abandoned, silenced, and blamed by the adults around her. But first, you need to know that - despite the headlines - this is not the main story: “Alice Munro stayed with her husband after she had been told he sexually abused her daughter” (Mannie, 2024). While true, it is misleading about the scope of the actual harms that took place. This headline minimizes the broader, systemic harms that occurred in the aftermath of Gerald Fremlin’s sexual assault of his stepdaughter, Andrea Skinner, when she was just 9 years old, including the subsequent choices of those who knew about the abuse and chose to ignore or bury it.

There is also the matter of who is responsible for the harms Andrea suffered and who—in their willful silence and abandonment of Andrea—is also complicit in them. Because it wasn’t just Gerald Fremlin. Of course, Gerald Fremlin is the one who sexually assaulted Andrea. But then there is the cascade of harms that came in the aftermath. It was also Andrea’s father James Munro, who Andrea told about the abuse immediately after it happened. And what did James Munro do to protect his young daughter? He sent her back to Gerald Fremlin, this time accompanied by his two other daughters. This response is both unimaginable and unconscionable to me.

So yes, Alice did stay with her husband Gerald Fremlin after her own daughter—a nine-year-old victim of sexual assault by Munro's then 52-year-old husband Fremlin—told her of the abuse many years after it had taken place (Skinner, 2024). But this was not a secret. Many, many people knew about it. As Andrea herself wrote in her 2024 essay in The Toronto Star, "Children are still silenced far too often. In my case, my mother’s fame meant that the secrecy spread far beyond the family. Many influential people came to know something of my story yet continued to support, and add to, a narrative they knew was false." This silencing has a chilling effect on survivors. As I wrote in the introduction to We’ve Been Put Through Fire & Come Out Divine, “Our voices have been silenced for so long. We have been told that our truths aren’t true, and that even if they are, no one cares anyway. And in response, we have hidden, made ourselves small, and become silent and invisible.”

Mechanisms & Psychological Impacts of Silencing Survivors

This silencing is not just a personal betrayal; it’s a societal one. It’s a narrative that tells survivors everywhere that their stories are secondary to the reputations of those who harm them. Rachel Louise Snyder, in No Visible Bruises, discusses how abuse often persists in silence until the severity is undeniable. In Andrea's case, each occasion of silence and complicity contributed to a narrative that prioritized the reputation of the abuser and those associated with him over the welfare of the victim.

Silencing has devastating effects on survivors. It's not just about Andrea being told to keep quiet; it's about every survivor who has been told to stay silent for their own good, for the good of the family, or to protect their abuser’s reputation. Silencing is itself a form of violence. Research shows that being silenced can cause immense psychological harms, reinforcing trauma and worsening symptoms of PTSD and depression (Ullman, 2023). In her book Trauma and Recovery, Judith Herman (2015) demonstrates that being silenced and having one’s truth denied or buried is a continuation of the abuse. This silencing sends a strong signal to the victim that their pain isn't valid, that their experience doesn’t matter, and that their voice isn’t worthy of being heard. Thus, silence and secrecy are employed as powerful weapons of abuse.

When legal measures like publication bans are used to enforce silence, they are often justified as being in the best interests of the victim. However, they frequently serve to protect the abuser more than the victim. Publication bans can reinforce a culture of silence, shielding perpetrators from public accountability and preventing survivors from reclaiming their voices and stories. Survivors who are silenced by these bans often suffer increased feelings of isolation, shame, and helplessness. Thus the legal system can end up perpetuating trauma rather than protecting against it. And this is not just about what happened to Andrea; it's about a system that routinely silences victims under the guise of providing protection.

Public Perception and the Erasure of Victims' Voices

Both Alice Munro and Gerald Fremlin are now deceased, and Andrea Skinner is in her 50s. Gerald Fremlin was found guilty in 2005 of sexually abusing Andrea in 1976 (Butt, 2024). When Gerald Fremlin was found guilty 19 years ago, both Alice and her husband, Gerald Fremlin, were still alive. It wasn’t until years later—in 2013—that Alice won the Nobel Prize. During all that time—all of those years and decades—Alice’s name and her stories were publicly celebrated, while Andrea’s name and story were silenced under a publication ban to “protect” her. But who was really being protected? The victim, or the narrative that shielded a famous writer and her circle?

In the aftermath of Munro’s recent death, I heard a radio program on CBC interviewing her biographer Robert Thacker (CBC Radio Interview, 2024). He spoke so lovingly about her, as if she had been this perfect Canadian mother and author. This was just a few months ago. His biography of Alice Munro came out in 2011. Now he’s admitting that he knew, too. All those years ago. He knew. Thacker has defended his decision to withhold this information from his 2011 biography of Munro because he says it wasn’t that kind of book. What kind of book is that? Apparently it was a biography of her that it wasn’t supposed to be salacious. And so now I want to know how is it that the sexual assault of a child could be considered salacious? But Robert’s not the only one. Many, many others also knew. Giants in the literary and publishing communities knew. Andrea brought her story to the press. They buried it. Deep. They silenced her. Over and over and over again Andrea was left to believe that her story didn’t matter. That it wasn’t to be believed. And that even if it was true—which of course was proven in 2005 when Gerald Fremlin's own writings to then young Andrea were used to substantiate the charges against him—that no one actually cared anyway.

And what did Gerald Fremlin have to say? He said that he was the victim. And Alice Munro? She told her daughter that she viewed it as infidelity and blamed Andrea for enticing and seducing 52-year-old Fremlin. As a reminder, Andrea was 9 at the time. And what did Fremlin do? In a flimsy and perverse attempt to defend himself, Fremlin invoked Nabokov. Fremlin said that he was Humbert Humbert and that Andrea was Lolita. He claimed that he was in fact the victim. But it’s not like that. It didn’t happen like that. Not at all. Plus, he’s missed the whole point of Lolita. And by once again attempting to weaponize literature against his victim and cloak himself in a twisted and mistaken reading of Nabokov, he revealed himself for what he truly is.

In 2005, Gerald Fremlin pled guilty and was given a suspended sentence and probation for two years on the charge of indecent assault, a criminal offence from the 1970s that preceded the current charge of sexual assault under the Canadian legal system. He was given probation. For sexually assaulting a 9 year old girl. And the names of the parties involved were put under a publication ban. To protect them. At this point Andrea was 38, and Fremlin was 80. And I have to wonder - who was it that needed protection at that point?

Publication Bans: Tools of Protection or Oppression?

While publication bans and nondisclosure agreements (NDAs) are touted as protective measures for victims, they can do more to protect perpetrators than victims. This is because they can present powerful barriers to victims’ abilities to seek justice and reclaim our stories. They not only have the effect of silencing victims, but also shielding abusers from accountability. A recent case in which an adult survivor shared her story with her supporters resulted in her being fined by the courts when the perpetrator found out that she had shared her story (Mandel, 2021). In cases like this we must ask the hard questions, who are these bans protecting? And who are they harming?

If the intention of these bans is to protect survivors, why are survivors often left feeling even more isolated and abandoned? Why are these tools being used to prevent survivors from reclaiming their own stories? These bans can do more harm than good, creating barriers that prevent survivors from speaking out and seeking justice. Publication bans don’t just silence the victims – taking away their ability to choose for themselves yet again - these bans allow perpetrators to potentially continue their abusive behaviors in the shadows and shielded from the scrutiny that could prevent further harm. The implications of publication bans are staggering. By silencing victims we aren’t just failing them, we’re systematically enabling a cycle of abuse to continue. Meanwhile, the public remains largely unaware of the real dangers posed by perpetrators who often remain in positions of power and enjoy a false reputation in the eyes of the public, as Gerald Fremlin most certainly did.

Legal Reforms - Restoring Survivor Agency

It’s time we look into legal reforms that actually protect survivors rather than take our agency away from us again. A good place to start would be by giving us back our names and our stories, or at least giving us a straightforward method to do that once we reach the age of majority and can make those choices as an adult. While some of these publication bans no doubt came from well-meaning places, the durability of them over time has the potential to cause additional harms later. More nuanced and appropriate uses of publication bans to protect minors and others who actually need and want that protection is worth exploring. Another area in need of attention is the use of anti-defamation lawsuits to silence survivors who speak out or attempt to seek justice. As Mandi Gray argues in her groundbreaking book Suing for Silence, defamation law is being weaponized to silence survivors and advocates who speak out about sexual violence, perpetuating the myth that false allegations of sexual violence are common and enabling abusive men to use defamation lawsuits against those who seek to hold them accountable.

We deserve better. Andrea Skinner deserved better. She deserved to be heard, believed, and supported. Instead, she was silenced and ignored. And it was done under the auspices of protecting her.

It's time we take back our voices. It's time to reclaim our stories. And to do it with our own words. In our own names.

References

CBC Radio Interview with Robert Thacker. (2024). Available at: [CBC](https://www.cbc.ca).

Mannie, K. (2024). Alice Munro stayed with husband who sexually abused her daughter: essay. Global News.

Gray, M. (2023). Suing for silence. Fernwood Publishing.

Herman, J. (2015). Trauma and recovery: The aftermath of violence—from domestic abuse to political terror. Basic Books.

Butt, M. (2024). Nobel-winning writer’s daughter reveals she was sexually abused by stepfather and her mom stayed with him. The Independent. Available at: [The Independent](https://www.independent.co.uk).

Mandel, M. (2021, March 19). Sex assault victim fined $2,000 for violating pub ban on her own name. The Toronto Sun.

Nabokov, V. (1955). Lolita. Olympia Press.

Simmerling, M. (Ed.). (2024). We've been put through fire & come out divine. Amherst Writers & Artists Press.

Skinner, A. R. (2024). “My stepfather sexually abused me when I was a child. My mother, Alice Munro, chose to stay with him.” Toronto Star.

Snyder, R. L. (2019). No visible bruises: What we don’t know about domestic violence can kill us. Bloomsbury Publishing.

Thacker, R. (2011). Alice Munro: Writing Her Lives. Emblem Editions.

Thompson, N. (2024). "Literary world grapples with revelation Alice Munro stayed with her daughter's abuser." The Canadian Press.

Ullman, S. E. (2023). Talking about sexual assault: Society's response to survivors. American Psychological Association.