The predator-teacher

–A blog I did not feel like writing, but one I knew I had to write….-

A true personal story about one teacher who did not deserve my silence then, so now I speak. For myself, now that I have finally found the voice the fifteen year me did not have ❤️

A little background first: When I was in secondary school, (Amsterdam) I think the second or third year (and about fifteen years old, not older, perhaps fourteen) one of the compulsory subjects was Dutch literature. Our teacher R.A was a published author, something I only found out later. Unknown and not famous to us (nor very known in general) but he had published novels. He must have been around 50 years old.

I have no memories of his classes before this all started. My first one is that we received an assignment to write an essay with arguments to support a case. I always loved writing and we were free to choose any topic. I put a lot of effort in, did research and was satisfied with the result.

I wondered if I should have picked a different, easier topic to write about and I cannot even remember why I chose it, but it does not matter for what I wish to convey.

When we received our grades, mine was rather low compared to my past successes and what other pupils scored. I showed my parents as they asked about it and I remember my mother wanted to know his reasoning for the low score and how I could have improved it. I would much rather have left it at that (…) as I had never questioned a grade before and would have been happier to make less waves, but they were adamant to pursue it.

After what they thought would be a friendly chat with the teacher (part of it happened in a hallway with the headmaster, I am not sure why, but it was the only time when I was present and where I had wished for an invisibility cloak) they concluded that his personal opinion about my essay’s topic possibly clouded his judgement from details I do not fully know until this day.

Something that should not have mattered at all in his professional capacity, did. I used articles from the library and some personal, documented facts about what happened to an ancestor of mine. How is a fifteen year old supposed to have well-formed, mature opinions to write about?

My parents then decided to go a step further and asked for a second opinion. Their request was accepted by the school. My work was assessed for a second time, now by a literature teacher who did not know me. This time, the same essay, received a higher grade (one I had expected in the first place, taking previous writings into account)

The whole situation caused me a lot of embarrassment and anxiety, now worrying how I was to continue classes with this same teacher, but I hoped we could forget about it all. The essay was how it started, but what ensued was worse.

I was only fifteen. A very shy, quiet girl who would sit at the front desks in each classroom, doing her work.

The literature class from that moment on was different. Sitting at one of the front desks of the classroom, R.A started to make constant eye contact with me. At first I tried to ignore it, but soon I realised it was very intentional. There was no denying it, no matter how hard I tried by diving into the books in front of me. You could feel the stare. Every single class, it was like I had suddenly become his favourite pet, but in the sense of a deranged person’s animal who he lovingly strokes and then violently chokes.

He had a preference for certain authors and would always read excerpts from their novels . His favourite parts were the vulgar ones (…) that would cause a stir in the group.

One time, I vividly remember, he was reading one such passage, were the author mentioned the genitals of a cow (I cannot remember the context but remember the word well) and when uttering the word(s) describing the genitals in detail (!) he looked at me with intent as if addressing only me and formed the words so deliberately with his lips and tongue, while holding his gaze on me. I would shudder and look away. He was only doing this with me, not with the other pupils/students.

Reading this graphic content would have the teenage boys howl, which would encourage him to emphasise it even more (!) There was no literary reason whatsoever to talk about such things or this particular novel in such detail nor to choose this vulgar book, except a predator’s fantasy at work.

I literally have no memory of talking about this with schoolmates, nor that anyone said anything to me. Difficult to imagine it was never discussed as it would have been impossible not to have noticed (and we talked about all teachers at length as you do) I have no memory of who sat next to me and what their reaction was, if any. Although my memory is foggy on this part, I must have been worried about the work I yet had to do in his class (would future written work be judged in a biased way or not) and other pupils could not have been blind to his manipulative ways and must have feared him too.

There is more. At other times, during class and this is something I recall vividly to this day, he would walk around and suddenly sit down on my small desk, his back towards my face: his behind just a few inches or less from my face (!) while he was lecturing. A very awkward situation: it had to be seen to be understood how inappropriate it was. Sometimes he would stand next to my desk, an inch away from my arm, uncomfortably long.

My fifteen year old self did not have the capacity to (loudly) object to this unacceptable behaviour. I was frozen, dissociated, scared. I am not describing a leaning position here, I mean fully sitting his bum on my desk, so close to me that there was no escape. The embarrassment was a full body experience. Why did I not complain to the headmaster? (the one who understood our request regarding essay-gate) It was not his word against mine: I had thirty witnesses after all. It never crossed my mind. If it had happened in this day and age it would have been recorded on a phone by someone.

I was outspoken in my essay, but silent about his treatment.

This went on until the next schoolyear when I got another teacher. The staring and sitting on my desk, loudly mentioning my name in class, in front of my peers, over and over again, making my name rhyme while asking for my opinion on random things. Possibly other things I have forgotten. It left me terribly embarrassed and humiliated. Classic bullying, openly, mostly with either a slight sexual undertone or a blatantly obvious one.

I told my parents about my grade that time, but never mentioned what happened after it…..Never. I don’t remember if I even considered telling them. I might have dreaded another confrontation. I thought I had put it behind me once I had another teacher (a completely different experience) and graduated the year after, until one day, many years later, I heard something on tv.

I wasn’t paying attention and doing chores, when, out of the blue, I hear the teacher’s name mentioned. The way a famous Dutch author (bestseller writer) was describing him, quite heated, had my full attention:

“R.A? He is such an arrogant, stuck up literature teacher!”

That was the first time I heard his name after many years and on tv! It was live or I would have listened to that comment a few times. What did he just say? Around the same time, my mother brought me the newest book written by this teacher. We had both never read his work and she found it on sale. I was quite curious actually and did not know what I was about to read.

The novel was about a 32 year old literature teacher who starts a relationship (sexual) with his 17 year old (or 19, cannot remember, but could have in reality been a 15 year old and masked as older….) pupil/student who wears a hijab. He describes in detail how she would “only take off the hijab during their sexual intercourse.” I don’t know how this, to say the least, provocative book, was received in the media nor if his other novels had similar themes.

The story made me sick to the stomach. They say that authors often write about themselves in their characters and if so, this one was too obvious. In his real life, I found out, the teacher himself was married to an ex-pupil (..I was not surprised…) I recognised him in every single word he wrote: his provocative speeches, the bullying, mocking, perverted and predatory behaviour. His sudden change in attitude, exaggerated mannerisms, narcissism, phony friendliness towards me and comments that put me on the spot in front of all pupils. How he tried to degrade me, punish me and how it was visibly turning him on.

I dreaded going to his classes and seriously must have been dissociated to make it through them. Feeling like the centre of unwanted attention for an hour or two, felt like an eternity.

I started thinking how many pupils he must have treated in the same way and possibly more horribly . I had been lucky to have escaped worse sexual harassment. But….he had also been ‘lucky’ on his part. I now realise he was clever and very manipulative. His sense of entitlement was through the roof. He was careful and careless at the same time; never alone with me but also the verbal harassment in front of all my peers, with that constant sexual undertone, both subtle and shameless. Seen from my current perspective he was a classic pervert and narcissist and it was a turn on for him.

He was very unattractive (physically and character wise) and what could have been if he had been very good-looking? (Although as a figure of authority, which a teacher is, often, physical attractiveness does not even matter and girls are manipulated and seduced by the ugliest of predators due to their authority status….)

I have waited to write about if for years; being reminded of it is still triggering.

If this was today, the chance of me speaking up would be much higher than my fifteen year old self ever could, although we never know in a situation like that. I have had many a daydream where he would sit down on my desk as usual, just to land on my opened, very sharp, pointy compass. Where my thirty witnesses did support me, loudly through the hallways and where he was fired, leaving the school with his disgusting books.

R.A., well….I heard he has long passed away since. Even if he had not, I would not have wanted to meet and confront him. I have met others, later in life, who sang from the same song sheet. One cannot communicate with a narcissist.

This is for the fifteen year old me. ❤️ This is for all the girls who are or have been in similar situations and, sadly, more dangerous ones. Where the teacher was the predator instead of your support, as should have been. It was never your fault ❤️ I wish you healing, your strength to come back to you, peace and safety and to be fully free from that evil. May the predators face their deeds forever.

Silvia