AI-Generated Child Sexual Abuse Material: Technology, Legislation, and a Call for School Action

By Neleh Kay, Brown University, Class of 2027

As a current college student, I’ve become acutely aware of how generative artificial intelligence (AI) is transforming education: my peers refer to ChatGPT by nickname, my professors constantly debate its place in classrooms, and my education studies courses consider its potential to address educational equity issues. But while I had thought at length about the academic implications of AI, I was not yet familiar with its nefarious use in child sexual abuse material (CSAM) production.

In 2025 alone, a staggering 145,000 incidents of AI CSAM were reported, that is, CSAM that is either generated or altered by AI software. However jarring or unsettling this may be, we need to confront these realities head-on. The current AI boom shows no signs of slowing down, and such cases are likely just the start of a ballooning crisis. 

Background: A Pre-AI Digital Era 

To better understand AI CSAM, we have to understand what came before: before ChatGPT, Google Gemini, and the assortment of “nudify” apps highly accessible today. CSAM is not new. The pre-AI cyberspace was an incubator for criminal activity, especially child sexual abuse.

For one, digital content has long carried the risk of proliferation. Images, whether sexually explicit or not, can be multiplied at lightning speed, across countless platforms. A 2019 article reported that CSAM is found on major platforms such as Facebook Messenger, Dropbox, Tumblr, and Snapchat. More covert are the dark web forums, estimated to have millions of photos and videos shared between tens of thousands of members. The darknet promises users anonymity via encryption, making it nearly impossible to detect and remove CSAM from its websites.

Other shortcomings lie in the procedure following CSAM discovery. Historically, major tech companies have failed to cooperate with law enforcement and hotline workers, becoming complicit in the proliferation and trade of CSAM. Findings from 2020 reveal that, upon CSAM detection, popular websites terminated user accounts or notified account holders of ongoing investigations. Both protocols hinder retrieval efforts and ultimately, the processes of establishing culpability and delivering justice. 

More complications arise with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, the organization responsible for distributing reports to local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies. Because of an overwhelming volume of CSAM reports, the nonprofit center has been forced to focus on those cases concerning infants and toddlers, leaving older children and teenagers without immediate attention. 

Fast-forward to today, and these conditions haven’t vanished–if anything, they’ve worsened. Accordingly, it’s imperative that we not isolate AI CSAM from the online infrastructure and vulnerabilities that gave rise to it. 

A New Frontier: AI CSAM

First and foremost, it is important to know exactly what AI CSAM refers to. In line with the vast array of public-facing AI applications, AI CSAM has taken many forms. The most common of which are deepfakes: images, videos, or audio that lead viewers to believe someone has said or done something they did not actually say or do. It might look like photos and videos of a child’s face overlaid onto an adult body, or ones of their own body “nudified” to appear as if without clothing. The three most consistently abused AI models are large language models (LLMs), text-to-image models, and “nudify” apps. “Nudify” apps are particularly dangerous because they’re trained on massive data collections of pornographic imagery and require virtually zero technical skills to operate. 

Across international reports, key characteristics and patterns of AI CSAM have been observed. With regard to gender, girls are disproportionately victimized. Last year, girls were depicted in 97% of images where simulated sex was recorded. This gender disparity goes beyond bad actors to the biases embedded within the algorithms themselves. One case study on DeepNude, an early “nudify” app, demonstrated that its algorithm was fundamentally incapable of performing its functions on images of men. The software was trained on images of women and women only, engineered with the purpose of sexualizing female bodies. Findings like these remind us that AI CSAM does not exist in a vacuum, but as a product of the decades-long history of cyberviolence against women and girls that began with cyberstalking and gender-based hate speech, and persists with the misogynistic rhetoric of the “manosphere.” 

Another defining characteristic of AI CSAM is that it is commonly produced by minors, marking a shift in traditional conceptualizations of CSAM, which are typically characterized by dynamics between adult offenders and young children. Cases of male students using AI to make CSAM of their female peers have sprung up nationwide in at least eight states. According to the National Education Association, administrators and educators are not yet equipped to handle student-on-student incidents. They may be unsure whether to report AI CSAM, as it isn’t always acknowledged in definitions of child abuse. Until now, the existence and enforcement of accountability measures for student offenders have been murky. One high school student was ordered to complete treatment for creating 43 AI images and videos of his underage classmates, but most of the charges against him were dropped because relevant state law did not yet exist. Inconsistency in state legislation and school policy, and delays in updating both, are likely to perpetuate these shortcomings in accountability for future juvenile perpetrators. 

Next, we will consider how and why AI CSAM causes harm. The 2026 AI CSAM Report, conducted by the Internet Watch Foundation, highlights some important dimensions of harm felt by victims, their support systems, and society at large: revictimization and normalization of sexual violence against children. Survivors of AI CSAM experience revictimization when their original abuse images are generated anew–frequently into more extreme versions–or when imagery is circulated across group chats, forums, and public image galleries for years to come. Repeated trauma of this kind causes serious and lasting psychological damage, including anxiety, depression, and social withdrawal. 

The second concern, normalization of child sexual violence, is a societal consequence of the widespread dissemination of AI CSAM. Research has shown that CSAM consumption reinforces users’ sexual interests in children and may lead them to seek out interaction with real children, outcomes that are exacerbated by repeated exposure. Knowing this, AI CSAM raises concerns about the potential pathways between online and offline forms of abuse. 

The Current State of Legislation and School Policy

Given the novelty of AI CSAM and deepfake pornography, and the speed at which the underlying technology is advancing, the law has been slow to catch up. In the United States, both federal and state law remains fragmented at best, enabling offenders to exploit weaknesses and loopholes. 

One landmark law, the TAKE IT DOWN Act, was signed into law on May 19, 2025. It made history as the first piece of federal legislation to meaningfully address the spread of non-consensual intimate imagery (NCII), which includes AI-generated deepfake pornography that features identifiable individuals. On the matter of AI CSAM, the TAKE IT DOWN Act criminalizes offenders who knowingly publish actual or synthetic CSAM, and those who intentionally threaten to publish such material in order to coerce, extort, or intimidate victims. Additionally, TAKE IT DOWN holds major tech companies accountable by mandating removal of NCII and CSAM from online platforms within 48 hours of a survivor’s request. So, despite not going as far as to disallow “nudify” apps altogether, it marks a historic first step of federal legislative efforts to combat AI CSAM. 

Alongside TAKE IT DOWN, numerous other federal legislative proposals have been introduced and are awaiting passage. The Stop Sextortion Act would criminalize sextortion or the threatening to distribute CSAM to intimidate, coerce, extort, or cause emotional distress, as well as expanding obscenity laws to include AI CSAM. The SAFE Act would update current CSAM guidelines to better account for modern technology, and the NO FAKES Act would prohibit the creation and distribution of unauthorized digital replicas or digital content made using generative AI. 

That said, the bulk of legislative progress has occurred at the state level: 45 states have enacted laws that criminalize AI and computer-edited CSAM, though the specific language varies from statute to statute. Many states only criminalize AI CSAM when a real, identifiable child is depicted. Others criminalize AI CSAM when any person suspected to be a minor is depicted, identifiable or not. 

Although most AI CSAM originates beyond school walls, schools have frequently been at the center of this issue. Even so, a regional study found that few districts have established any cyberbullying policies that include mention of online sexual misconduct. If schools and their leadership are to protect students, support survivors, and prevent further harm, they need to set clear policies and procedures for AI CSAM response. 

Recommendations for School Response

1) Schools should stay informed about the ever-evolving laws governing AI CSAM in their state. 

2) Schools should preemptively set and update policies and procedures to cover AI CSAM, including but not limited to student-on-student incidents, safe reporting mechanisms, and deepfake detection tools. 

3) Schools should provide students, teachers, faculty, and parents with education around critical media literacy, AI CSAM, and online sexual misconduct. 

4) Schools should allocate resources to trauma-informed mental health and support programs targeted for survivors of AI CSAM. 

What We Owe Our Students: A Reflection on Safety and Accountability in Schools

By Jayde Bennett

Opening the Door to the Conversation

As a graduate student in social work, I had the opportunity to interview two colleagues, Jamie Forbes and Amy Wheeler, for a class assignment. Both are survivors of institutional child sexual abuse (ICSA), and our conversations focused not just on what happened to them but on how those experiences shaped their identities, relationships, and sense of self over time. 

Their stories deepened my understanding of what it means to be harmed by someone in power and what it means to live with, and through, that harm.

I am a survivor, too. But my abuse didn’t happen at school. It wasn’t perpetrated by a teacher or an adult in authority. I was abused by another child—someone older, someone I trusted. And even though it didn’t happen within an institution, the confusion, the shame, and the quiet unraveling that followed mirrored so much of what I heard in Jamie and Amy’s stories.

Today, as an educator and a social worker-in-training, I find myself in the in-between space where personal experience fuels professional purpose. And I’ve come to understand that when child sexual abuse happens, especially in schools, the betrayal doesn’t end with the act itself. It ripples outward, touching every part of a survivor’s life. And often, it lingers far longer than anyone realizes.

This post is a reflection on my conversations with Amy and Jamie, and on the broader question at the heart of Learning Courage’s work: How do we help schools evolve into spaces where safety, accountability, and healing are embedded in the culture, not just the crisis response?

The Scope We Can’t Ignore

Although my own abuse didn’t occur in a school setting, my conversations with Jamie and Amy and the stories I’ve encountered through this work have made it abundantly clear: educator sexual misconduct is both widespread and profoundly underexamined. While discrepant reporting systems and standards, incomplete or inaccessible documentation, and different language for what constitutes abuse make it hard to truly measure its prevalence, existing data tells us that educator sexual misconduct is not rare in the United States (Abboud et al., 2020).

Research from psychologist Elizabeth Jeglic and colleagues (2023) found that nearly 12% of students reported experiencing at least one form of sexual misconduct by an educator during their K–12 years. While sexual comments were most frequently reported, some students disclosed more invasive violations such as unwanted touching, sexualized comments, jokes, gestures, or looks. Others reported grooming behaviors like gift giving or being shown special attention. 

Yet, only 4% of students reported these experiences to the proper authorities (Jeglic et al., 2023).

But, underreporting should never be mistaken for a lack of harm. Students who experience educator sexual misconduct often face significant emotional, relational, academic and psychological challenges in both the short and long term (Knoll, 2010).

These numbers are sobering but they are more than statistics. They represent real young people, like Jamie and Amy, whose developing sense of self was shaped not just by abuse, but by betrayal, coercion, and confusion.

What Abuse Alters: Identity, Trust, and the Question of Worth 

From the moment we began speaking, I no longer felt like I was completing an academic exercise. I wasn’t just collecting data for a paper. I was listening to two people who knew, intimately, what it meant to be betrayed by the very adults entrusted with their care. 

Their stories differed in timing and circumstance, but the silence that surrounded their abuse felt achingly familiar to me.

As Amy and Jamie shared more of their stories, I kept thinking about how abuse doesn’t just leave wounds, it leaves questions. Questions about who you are. What you’re worth. Whether what happened was your fault. Whether anyone will believe you if you speak up.

These questions aren’t abstract. They're developmental. They live in the body. They shape relationships, self-talk, even the way you walk into a room.

Amy’s abuse occurred in fourth grade, during a phase of childhood when kids are supposed to be building confidence, learning how to contribute, achieve, and feel good about who they are outside of their families. Instead of feeling capable, Amy internalized the belief that she had to earn value by performing. “I learned early on,” she said, “that my value was a transactional thing—that I had to do something to be recognized.” Her sense of self-worth never got to take root on its own terms. It was always conditional.

Jamie’s story was anchored in early adolescence, a time of identity exploration—figuring out who you are, what you believe, and how you relate to others. His abuse disrupted all of that. “It made me question everything I thought was settled,” he said. “Who I was. What it meant about me that this happened.” He didn’t just lose trust in the institution that failed to protect him, he lost trust in himself.

Hearing them speak, I realized how many of us spend years trying to separate what happened to us from who we are. And how much harder that process becomes when the abuse intersects with core developmental milestones, when you’re still figuring out how to feel safe in your own body, your own identity.

In my own healing, I’ve had to untangle these threads too. I’ve had to revisit the part of me that believed I was “bad” for being curious or spirited. The part that quietly accepted that I deserved what happened. The part that mistook secrecy for safety. And it’s only through therapy, community, and naming the harm that I’ve started to stitch a clearer self-narrative, one rooted not in shame, but in dignity.

The Long Road Back: What Healing Looks Like Up Close

When I asked Amy and Jamie what helped them heal, their answers weren’t surprising but they were powerful.

For Jamie, friendships were a lifeline. So was therapy, which he began in high school and continued for much of his adult life. “Being in nature helped too,” he said. “It reminded me of something outside myself. And music—that was a big outlet.”

Amy spoke about the transformative impact of finally finding a therapist who understood trauma. “It’s a journey,” she said, “but I’m in such a good place with a lot of it.” She also talked about the power of meeting other survivors—people who helped her put words to what she had experienced. “I remember thinking, Oh my God, I’m not alone in that.”

For both of them, something shifted once they began talking publicly about what had happened. Naming it gave them back a piece of power. “Once I started telling people,” Jamie said, “it stopped feeling so powerful in my life.”

That resonated with me deeply. So much of my own healing began with language. Being able to say what happened—not euphemistically, not in code, but in real, clear terms—has changed how I carry it. It hasn’t erased the harm. But it’s helped me reclaim the story.

I often remind myself and others: healing isn’t about getting over it. It’s about integrating the truth into your life in a way that lets you keep growing.

What Institutions Must Understand: It’s Not Just About the Abuser

When we talk about child sexual abuse in schools, the focus often centers on the individual who caused the harm—a teacher, a coach, a staff member. And rightfully so. Accountability for perpetrators is essential. But that’s only one piece of the picture. True accountability also requires us to examine the institutional conditions that allowed the abuse to happen, and the responses that followed.

What Jamie and Amy’s experiences made painfully clear is that the deeper harm often comes from what the institution does, or doesn’t do, after the abuse is disclosed.

In Jamie’s case, the school chose to protect the teacher. “It didn’t seem like there were any significant consequences,” he said. The message was unmistakable: keeping things quiet mattered more than keeping him safe.

Amy never even got the chance to speak up as a child. Her understanding of what happened was so blurred by manipulation and the absence of adult intervention that it took years before she could begin to name the abuse. 

What systems existed to protect her? Who was watching?

When institutions minimize, ignore, or fail to respond to disclosures of abuse or misconduct, they don’t just miss an opportunity, they double the harm. The betrayal gets compounded. The survivor’s sense of safety, trust, and self-worth gets buried even deeper.

And here’s what I want school leaders to understand: safety is not a static policy. It’s a living culture. One that’s built or broken by how schools choose to act when it matters most.

Culture Is the Curriculum: What Schools Can Do

At Learning Courage, we often talk about creating school environments where students are not only protected, but empowered. That work isn’t about reacting to a crisis—it’s about cultivating a climate where harm is less likely to happen in the first place, and where students trust adults enough to speak up if it does.

That means asking hard questions, like:

It’s not enough to say you care about safety. You have to demonstrate it. Consistently, clearly, and with courage.

Because here’s the truth: in the absence of a strong, transparent culture, silence rushes in. And silence is where abuse thrives.

This Work Is Personal, and Collective

When I think about what it means to create safer schools, I don’t just think about policies. I think about children like I was, curious, high-energy, full of questions and contradictions. I think about kids like Amy and Jamie, trying to make sense of adult behavior that should’ve never been theirs to interpret. 

And I think about the adults in the room–teachers, deans, advisors, coaches, dorm parents—who may never know the full impact of their silence, their inaction, or their willingness to look the other way.

As someone who was abused by peers, not educators, I still felt the weight of adult absence. The spaces where someone could have noticed something was off and asked a gentle question. The missed opportunities to name boundaries in age-appropriate ways. The instinct to protect the system instead of the student.

Now, as an adult who moves between the personal and the professional, I see how schools can become sites of repair. If they choose to be.

That’s what this work is really about: helping institutions recognize their power to either replicate harm or radically shift the culture. To create environments where every student feels worthy, seen, and safe.

To School Leaders, Faculty, and Staff: Here’s What You Can Do

You don’t have to be a trauma expert to make a difference. But you do have to be willing to listen, learn, and act.

Here are a few places to start:

Final Words: This Work Is Ongoing

I didn’t write this post to tell one neat story. I wrote it to illuminate what so many survivors already know: that abuse doesn’t end with an incident. It echoes. And yet, so does healing.

Every conversation we open, every policy we shift, every relationship we strengthen becomes part of that healing process.

At Learning Courage, we believe that schools can lead in this work, not just by preventing harm, but by modeling what it looks like to respond with compassion, integrity, and courage.

This work is deeply personal to me. But it’s also something we share. 

And if you’re reading this—as an educator, a parent, a survivor, or someone who simply cares—you’re part of that shared work, too.

Let’s keep doing it. Together.

References

Abboud, M. J., Wu, G., Pedneault, A., Stohr, M. K., & Hemmens, C. (2018). Educator Sexual Misconduct: A Statutory Analysis. Criminal Justice Policy Review, 31(1), 133-153. https://doi-org.proxy.cc.uic.edu/10.1177/0887403418806564 (Original work published 2020)

Jeglic, E. L., Calkins, C., Kaylor, L., Margeotes, K., Doychak, K., Blasko, B., Chesin, M., & Panza, N. (2022). The Nature and Scope of Educator Misconduct in K-12. Sexual Abuse, 35(2), 188-213. https://doi-org.proxy.cc.uic.edu/10.1177/10790632221096421 (Original work published 2023)

Knoll, J. (2010). Teacher Sexual Misconduct: Grooming Patterns and Female Offenders. Journal of Child Sexual Abuse, 19(4), 371–386. https://doi-org.proxy.cc.uic.edu/10.1080/10538712.2010.495047 

Hope Event - Coco Love Alcorn

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

An established presence in the Canadian music scene, Coco’s 20 year career combines diverse musical influences including jazz, R&B, pop, folk, and Gospel. Her vast musical success includes 12 (9 solo) albums, cross-Canada tours, collaborations, festival appearances, award nominations, and notable success in TV and film. Coco Love Alcorn

Hope Event - Robert Sturman / Matthew Cuban Hernandez

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

A dedicated yoga practitioner, photographer Robert Sturman has increasingly focused on capturing the timeless grace and embodied mindfulness of Asana in his work. Reminding us that there is beauty everywhere, Sturman's honors include Official Artist of the 47th Annual GRAMMY Awards, 2010 FIFA World Cup Artist Representing America, and Official Artist 2008 United States Olympics. Sturman has also been the subject of two separate New York Times articles celebrating his photographs of yoga from around the world. Robert Sturman ~ Artist/Photografía 

Matthew ‘Cuban’ Hernandez is a poet and actor who has toured as far as Abu Dhabi and to nearly every major city in the United States and Europe, performing, teaching and coaching poetry. Working with Street Poets Inc, Matthew has spent the last six years working in youth detention centers across Los Angeles County. He is a Lead Teacher and Co-Founder of the Spoken Literature Art Movement and has opened for artists such as Wu-Tang. Matthew has performed widely and is a three time Southern Fried poetry slam champion. Matthew Cuban Hernandez (Street Poets, Inc.)

Hope Event - Babatunji Johnson

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

Babatunji Johnson joined us for a second year. Following over a decade of self-taught street performance starting at the age of 15, he has developed a unique approach to various styles of hip hop such as breakdance, popping, and krump. While cultivating his own movement language, Babatunji simultaneously trained in ballet, modern, and contemporary at Center Stage Dance Alliance in Hilo Hawaii. He works professionally with Alonzo King Lines Ballet in San Francisco and has toured with countless other companies around the world. Babatunji Johnson

Tunji

Hope Event - Late Night Thoughts

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

Late Night Thoughts is the Folk-Pop duo of Michael Harlow and Brian Rauch. Michael’s music and harmony, and Brian's lyrics and melody create a unique combination of singer-songwriter stylings with a folk-pop vibe. We were honored that they debuted a new song just for us! Late Night Thoughts 

Late Night Thoughts

Hope Event - Walnut Hill School for the Performing Arts

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

Celebrating 50 years as a global arts leader, we are thrilled that 5 gifted students from the Walnut School for the Arts shared their talents with us. You do not want to miss this beautifully performed piece, composed by student Justinas Žlabys. Walnut Hill School for the Arts 

Walnut Hill School for the Performing Arts

Hope Event - Embodiment Project

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

The Embodiment Project is a Bay Area Performing Arts Organization founded by Nicole Klaymoon. For over 13 years, they seek to uplift the power of dance as an act of resistance, collective healing, and social transformation. Drawing on modern dance, poetry, documentary theater, live song, and video art, their work uplifts the narratives of: Black, Indigenous and People of Color, the voices of survivors of sexual violence, youth, and communities impacted by the carceral system. Embodiment Project 

Embodiment Project

Hope Event - The Jabberwocks of Brown University

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

The Jabberwocks are the oldest a cappella group at Brown and they’ve performed everywhere from Shea Stadium to Carnegie Hall, appeared on South Korean TV, and even sang at Steven Tyler’s birthday party. The award-winning Jabberwocks compete internationally and in addition to their own recordings, have been featured on other recording compilations. The Jabberwocks of Brown University 

Jabberwocks

Hope Event - Tina Cane

In February 2023, Learning Courage hosted our third annual virtual event. This year our theme was Hope, a word our team feels fuels our work in many ways. Hope gives us strength. Your hope allows you to move forward and it takes strength to tell your story, to stand up and speak out for change, to shift damaging cultural systems and dynamics that lead to harm, and to heal from sexual abuse and violence. This year our performers were inspired by our theme of hope and showed it through dance, poetry, song, spoken word, and images; several of them even created new pieces, especially for our event. One of our performers joins us as our host this year. Proclaimed as one of the “purest contemporary voices” by National Public Radio, Amikaeyla Gaston is a force for change. She is a nuanced thought-leader, author, public speaker, and performer, and MTV says “her sultry sound is like listening to velvet waterfalls.”

We were so grateful to be joined by Tina Cane. She is the Poet Laureate of Rhode Island and the founder/director of Writers-in-the-Schools, RI. Tina has published multiple books and her poems and translations have appeared in a myriad of publications. In her capacity as poet laureate, Tina has established her state's first youth poetry ambassador program and has brought the Poetry-in-Motion program from the New York City Transit System to Rhode Island's state-wide buses. Tina Cane 

Tina Cane

Victim Impact Statements

Jamie Forbes - September 30, 2022

Warning: the following content describes sexual abuse and the impact it has had on other’s lives. Some may find it upsetting.

Last Friday, I sat in a courtroom with the man who sexually abused me. It was the first time since I graduated from high school - more than 37 years - that I had seen him in person. This was the culmination of a 5-year criminal case against Rey Buono, the teacher who repeatedly raped me when I was in 9th grade. 

What follows are three Victim Impact Statements. These are letters written by survivors to the judge to describe the impact that the crime being discussed had on them. I share these Impact Statements because they each illustrate a different perspective. They are powerful stories that I hope promote conversation and understanding. 

There is so much discomfort that people feel when talking about sex. It’s even more challenging to talk about sexual abuse. Talking about sex and sexual abuse, over time, can reduce the discomfort, and it certainly helps to reduce the shame for survivors. Talking about it helps kids understand the issue; it helps build a vocabulary and trust with adults. Most importantly, talking about sex and sexual abuse is the best way to protect the people we love.

It is in this context that I share with you what I, along with two others who were also abused by Rey Buono, said in court. Each statement is different, and together they provide poignant and moving insight into how the abuse affected each of us and many, many others who still suffer in silence.

My Impact Statement

It has been more than 40 years since Rey Buono repeatedly raped me, and not a day goes by that some aspect of his sexual, physical and emotionally abusive behavior doesn’t haunt me. The first time he laid his hands on me, I was terrified. I didn’t know what I had done to make him think I would want that. It rocked me to the core because it made me question so much in my life I thought I knew about myself.

When Rey touched me that first time, he stole my childhood. When he invited me to his apartment, suggesting he could help me prepare for my history test, where he raped me the first time, he stole my voice. When he did it again and again, he shattered my ability to love and trust myself.

I have spent my life since then trying to reclaim what Rey Buono stole from me, trying to scrub the shame that seeped into every thought as I tried to process who I was. Before he stole my childhood and my voice and burdened me with a shame that suffocated me, I looked to older adults to help me understand life and how to navigate it. After he repeatedly raped me, I didn’t trust adults to care for me. I avoided people in positions of authority. In fact, I actively passed up opportunities to become a leader because leaders, to me, were not trustworthy. 

When I most needed mentors in my life, I shied away from finding them because Rey showed me they were dangerous.

If it weren’t for my friends, I am sure I would have spiraled into a darker place. They prevented that. In school they were my protection, my solace, my reassurance that I wasn’t as damaged as I felt inside because of what he did to me. My friendships fortified and protected me against the shame and self-doubt that he forced on me. While I have made a lot of progress, I still carry those feelings with me every day because of what he did.

Telling people that Rey raped me has been an important part of my healing. When I posted on Facebook that I was one of the many people he abused, I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of support. I was also struck by the number of other people who reached out to me who he had abused. I heard their stories.  Most of them were tragically familiar to me.  Still others were much worse and left survivors addicted, homeless and suicidal. 

Hearing from some of the others he raped gave me some comfort, knowing I wasn’t alone in my experience. Every time I think about what he did to me and to so many others, I taste the bile of disgust and revulsion. Today I am here, able to read this statement with anger fueled not just by the devastation he caused in my life but also by the wake of pain and suffering for the unnamed others who are unable to stand and speak with me today about what he did to them. I share my words today in solidarity with them and because it is impossible for me to separate what he did to me from what he did to so many others.  

When Rey Buono raped me, he turned me into a self-doubting shame machine. At a time I should have been thriving, all I could see of myself was a vulnerable kid who didn’t have much to offer the world. I have spent the majority of my life rewiring the connections in my brain so I no longer have to listen to a constant litany of critical voices. But they still creep in from time to time, and I blame him for that.

I am a firm believer in the mind-body connection. Scientists have concluded that child sex abuse survivors are 49% more likely to get cancer than those who were not abused. Is it also his fault, therefore, that I developed a particularly aggressive form of prostate cancer when I was 46? I have been living with cancer for nearly 10 years. While I’m still ALIVE, I have Stage 4 cancer, which has spread to my bones. 

It’s incurable. 

If Rey had anything to do with my cancer, then he not only stole my youth, but he quite likely also stole my ability to watch my daughters become adults and have their own families. Rey has stolen my ability to nurture and love my wife as we grow old together. He has stolen experiences and emotions that I will never have. I can absorb the impacts that his actions had on me, but it’s nearly intolerable for me to imagine the tremendous impact Rey continues to have on my family. 

I wish Rey Buono were going to jail with the other criminals who are unfit to live in society.  It’s where he belongs. But instead I have to settle for knowing that his admission to repeatedly raping me is as good as an admission to stealing so many other childhoods. Rey’s admission of guilt means he’s no longer fighting against the truth. And that means I don’t have to fight for justice any more. It means I’ll have more strength to fight cancer instead and hope that I’ll be able to enjoy more time with my wife and get to watch my daughters raise their own families.

I will walk out of here with my head held high. And Rey is incredibly lucky that he gets to walk out of here with his hands free instead of into a jail cell. I hope in whatever years he has remaining, he will spend the majority of it being someone who doesn’t hurt people, motivated by the knowledge that he has a lot of deep and widespread pain to make up for.

Important Note - For the sake of clarity - particularly to those I know personally - I want to assure you that, while what I wrote about my cancer is true, I have every intention of eradicating it from my body. While I’ve had cancer in my bones for the past 3 years, it has not grown since it was detected there. My treatments are working. And while current medical protocols have been unable to cure metastatic prostate cancer, I fully believe in the power of the body to heal. I have already defied the medical survivability statistics. With this court case resolved, I will have more energy to focus on making my body inhospitable to cancer. And I plan to do just that.

Beau Ryan’s Impact Statement

It was some 48 years ago, when as a young, physically and emotionally immature boy, I was molested and raped for the first of many times by Rey Buono. Rey was the “floor master” in my dorm and in an ideal position to get me into his apartment and abuse me. In doing so, he destroyed my adolescence and almost my life. The shame and confusion I felt was immense and unbearable.

At that age, I should have been taken care of, not taken advantage of. After barely graduating from Milton, my life went on a downward spiral of drugs and self destruction……ultimately ending up with me living on the streets strung out on heroin.  Thankfully, at some point, I was able to decide that I wanted to live, not die or go to jail.

My life and my relationships have all been tainted by my rage at what Rey did to me all those years ago. I have spent countless years in therapy trying to let go of some of these feelings. The things that I wish I could have said back then: get your hands off me, stop that, leave me alone, are things that haunt me to this day. I wish I could speak directly to Rey and tell him exactly what I think of him and what he did to me. I wish I could show the court my 1977 yearbook in which a picture of Rey sitting on the grass leaning against a tree was inscribed by him to me: “the pleasure was all mine”. I wish I could let out all the anger, rage and pain on him. Because that is what I am feeling standing here. I am just lucky to have an amazing and eternally supportive wife and family.

I would like to thank the court for the opportunity to make this statement. I would also like to thank Lisa Beattie and Kristin Collins for advocating for me to have this chance. It means the world to me and something I never thought possible. One of the most difficult things, in the last 6 years especially, has been the feelings of helplessness. Due to the unfortunate timing of the statutes of limitations at the time, I could not bring charges against Rey now. Since he was extradited, I have hoped that I might get a chance to testify at his trial. I have done my best to support Jamie and the DA’s office……but that really didn’t and wasn’t going to help me resolve my conflict and frustration. In some small way this does.

It is my firm conviction that I am only one of potentially dozens or even hundreds of victims of Rey’s, not just here in the US, but overseas. I believe that he belongs in prison for the rest of his life. It’s unfortunate that only recently have enough of these cases come to light that the laws and statutes are changing. This plea is a gift…….it does not compare to the extreme damage that he has caused. However, I do take some solace from the fact that he will have to suffer some consequences of his actions and not be able to walk free and continue his destruction. 

David Saltonstall’s Impact Statement

Your Honor,

My name is David Saltonstall, and Rey Buono abused me for five years of my life, starting when I was a child of 13.

I have not spoken these words publicly until today, but let me be crystal clear: Rey Buono’s pattern of abuse over many years robbed scores of children of their innocence, including mine. He has said over the years that he never touched anyone without their consent, which is as cynical as it is offensive. The concept of consent has no meaning for a child, who has no capacity to give it. There is only fear and innocence at that age – fear of disappointing someone who you thought was a trusted mentor, fear of being found out, and innocence surrounding the physical abuse that is suddenly, inexplicably, being forced upon you.

While much has been established about Buono’s years of abuse at Milton Academy, I want to make clear that there remains another mostly silent group of children that Buono abused in his typically calculated way. I was not a student at Milton Academy. I was a young person from another school who joined one of the bike tours he led in the summer. In that way, my story is exactly like Jamie Forbes’ – days of biking, the introduction of alcohol by Buono at night, and then a pairing up into tents that for Buono became the perfect, predatory trap. It is where I was abused for the first time, and I feel confident in telling the court that there are many other “bike kids” who like me had no connection to Milton but remain scarred and alive. Some may have no idea this proceeding is happening today because they have no formal connection to Milton, so as a survivor I stand for them as well in giving voice to Buono’s predations.

I am grateful that with today’s proceeding, Rey Buono’s webs have all come undone. All his cowardice and running have been overtaken by the bravery of those who refused to let justice be deferred any longer. I know in my heart that in confessing to some small subset of charges today, he is confessing to all in the eyes of his many victims. I hope the sounds of their anguish will ring in his ears every hour of every day, like the rattle of his father’s old key chain, and haunt him for the rest of his days.

Sincerely, David Saltonstall

Final Reflection

I didn’t know either of these men before I returned to Milton Academy in 2016 to tell them about being sexually abused by Rey Buono. While shame kept us apart for more than 30 years and prevented us from creating community through our shared experience, this shared experience, as tragic as it is, has brought us together. I salute Beau and David and send strength and light out to all survivors who feel unable to push beyond shame to find healing and community. May you someday find comfort in sharing your story with others so that you, too, may feel the power of community and the promise of healing through storytelling. 

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Silenced While Seeking Justice

By Jamie Forbes, CEO and Survivor

I set out to write a series of blog posts about my experience as a survivor of sexual abuse. As I began the process, the words and the topics to write about poured out of me.  I realized there was a lot I wanted to cover as I began to pull apart the different aspects of my abuse. I made a list that included how the abuse kept me small and prevented me from taking risks; why I decided to return to Milton Academy to report my abuse after 31 years; my process and what it felt like to participate in the school’s investigation; why I chose to declare publicly that I was one of the unnamed people in the Investigation findings; why I decided to respond to some press inquiries and not others; what made me decide to press charges against the man who abused me and my experience of the subsequent legal process: these were all topics that others agreed would have value to readers.

I wrote my first post, and it felt good to release.  And the second one spilled out of me 3 months later. And then Boston Magazine published my story. Writing has always been a way for me to process my own experiences. And the possibility of sharing these details to help others is what helped me overcome the nearly crippling fear about going back to the school that betrayed me and hoping things would be different this time. Things were different when I returned. And identifying the power that he took from me when he abused me and sharing it in a public way has enabled me to reclaim that power. This reclaiming has been a critical part of my healing.

And then I stopped writing the series.

I had so much more to write. I had a long list of topics to cover, but something was in the way. I can point to lots of reasons that kept me from writing more on the topic. The most obvious is that I was busy.  But that was too easy an answer, and it wasn’t the whole story.

What I realized is that fear has blocked me from writing more. It’s not fear of what you might think though. I am not afraid about what people will think of me. While shame is still a deeply ingrained aspect from my abuse, what has kept me from writing more is the fear that what I write will be used against me in court. Every word I write and have written about my abuse will be dissected. Every triumph over the pain will be used to show that the damage to me wasn’t that bad. Any revelation or explanation of healing will be evidence that whatever harm I have claimed could not have been as traumatic as the prosecution is claiming.

I imagine myself sitting on the witness stand and having to defend out of context quotations; I anticipate being asked just how well I remember incidents that happened more than 4 decades ago, especially when alcohol was involved. Trauma does strange things to memory. The criminal justice system has little tolerance for trauma’s impact on the brain, especially when there is also no physical evidence. 

Thirty-seven years after I left the school where my abuser walked the halls, I am currently grinding through the court system seeking justice - and consequences for the man who abused me. He fled overseas after being fired for admitting he had abused another student. He went to Thailand and Malaysia, where he continued to teach until a court in Massachusetts indicted him for what he did to me. It took 8 months to get the indictment. It took another year and a half to get him extradited from Southeast Asia. And it has taken another 3 years to argue through endless motions and appeals. There is still no court date on the horizon. The case may be dismissed before it even gets to trial. But if the case does go to trial, I know that every statement, everything I have written will be pulled apart for inconsistencies, for evidence that my memory (indeed that I) am unreliable and should not be believed. This is not only my fear. It is the fear that everyone who has been victimized has to consider if they report abuse: being told that it didn’t happen, that what they’re saying can’t be true.  Too often that stops them, and I understand it. 

I have a lot to say about the impact and what I have learned from being sexually victimized as a  young teen. And writing about the experience has been a powerful salve for the wounds that still fester. So I am left to write about not being able to write - about being afraid of what I say because I know everything will be challenged with the objective of discrediting me. In fact, my choice to start Learning Courage has already been used in court as evidence that this organization is merely an opportunity to profit from my experience. 

Seeking justice has been a long grind, and the outcome remains uncertain. And yet the criminal process favors those who remain silent. Seeking justice means submitting yourself to further victimization because it’s built into the process. Part of my healing has come from expressing and sharing my experience. And doing that also puts the case at risk. These elements are all reasons that prevent people from reporting abuse and pressing charges.    

And they are at the heart of what has kept me from writing. 

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