The link between childhood abuse and criminality.
Well everyone it’s been a while for which I apologise. Lets just say I’ve had shit on and have been chasing my tail for a month!
So I thought I’d explore the link between childhood abuse and criminality and how that fit in with my childhood trauma. We know there’s a often a link between the two but I think sometimes it’s assumed that the link is more of a socio-economic one rather than anything more complex.
According to the NCI in 2017 “Among women, having an antisocial romantic partner was linked to affiliations with antisocial peers, which in turn increased criminal involvement. For men, having an antisocial partner was associated with less partner warmth, which in turn predicted an affiliation with antisocial peers, itself a proximal predictor of adult crime. Relationships with antisocial peers and romantic partners in adulthood may increase criminal involvement by normalizing crime and reinforcing coping skills that promote criminal behavior among both men and women.”
This statement was directly referring to adults who had suffered abuse as children, and then gone on to commit crime as adults. The socio-economic situation of these adults wasn’t really the focus. Which I personally can well believe is true. My point, is that you don’t have to be poor or from a poor family to suffer abuse. Abuse happens in all demographics, in all countries on the planet. Abusers often live in plain sight.
My own mother was a criminal. She hadn’t always been. She’d also been badly abused as a child. But meeting a guy with whom she had an affair when married to my step father ,and later married, seemed to bring out this whole other personality. It started with her being the manager of a night club that was notorious for dealing class A drugs. At the same time she had an arab lover (yes another one) that ran a large criminal gang in the city. They dealt mainly in drugs and money laundering. The people that came and went from our posh little city flat weren’t street criminals. They wore Rolex and had drivers. The charming Americans had guns (and they were charming) Texans I believe, (not something we were used to in old blighty!)
And so this criminal element to homelife built in pace and momentum. At some point my mother decided that her partner and her would launder around 100k in from abroad. A great plan. Until they got caught of course. My mother got a suspended sentence – in her own words “Because the judge took pity on me having 3 kids…” and her scumbag partner got a minimum term in Belmarsh, later to move to Nottingham. The sentence included deportation on release. So atleast we had something to look forward to.
Or so I thought.
He would write to us as if we were his loving devoted children. I could barely hide my disgust. At my mother’s behest I visited him once in each place with her. It made my skin crawl to see his fake smile and overly enthusiastic hug. Knowing that when he got out he was being deported was the best fuckin news I’d had in the 2yrs years she’d been with him.
Thank fuck, I thought. I’ll finally be able to sleep without checking if the door is locked.
Just before his release, my mother sat me down and wanted to have a chat. I presumed it was going to be some shit about how she was going to miss him when he got deported home. But alas, not. In her fragile mind she’d realised a solution to the problem of him leaving her (in her mind)….. the solution was that we were all going to go with him to start a new life in his home country.
Fuck me. That added insult to injury. My life just got a whole lot worse, and at 12yrs old, I felt completely powerless to do a single thing about it.