by Jon Pressick
Soon locals began contacting me stating that they believed there was a cover-up into investigation of the charges. That’s not a new allegation for Steubenville. There is also a belief among residents of Steubenville that high school athletes are given a pass when it comes to accountability for bad behavior.
My articles were based on my firsthand knowledge of the area, as well as many, many emails from residents seeking to dissect truth from gossip. EVERYONE in town was talking about this case. My blog became the Internet version of a local coffee shop where people could anonymously discuss theories and other information they had heard, but their ultimate yearning was that the truth be revealed. They were concerned that the students would be given leniency because of who they were and how they were connected to the football program.
There were rumors that Coach Reno Saccoccia knew about the incident and rather than benching the students involved he allowed them to continue their football season minus one game—and later during trial testimony we were to find out that this was true.
Having lived in Steubenville, I have personal knowledge of the football culture there. I saw it—I experienced it and to be honest, I was creeped out by it. Men who were twenty years out of high school seemed to be still living in the moment of when the full-capacity stadium used to cheer loudly for them. Perhaps they are holding on to the days when they were admired and adulated, only to grow up and be stuck in a town that now has few jobs and little to do other than head back to that elaborate 10,000-seat stadium on Friday nights and relive their glory days.
If you ask any little boy in Steubenville what he wants to be when he grows up, you will likely hear “a Big Red football player.” Student athletes have referred to themselves on Twitter as “#steubenvillestarsforlife.”
They didn’t just decide one day that they were superstars. This is a culture that has bred this attitude, and it is not well received when people discuss it critically. A quick read of some of the local high school football forums will introduce you to the rivalry between the various local high school teams. So, when I talked about the football culture negatively in light of this case, to say it was not received well is an understatement.
I never expected this case to take on the life that it has. I have been left weeping and filled with so much pride as I watched the Steubenville rallies and listened to the stories of other victims who were too afraid to come forward. It was absolutely amazing to see the streets of downtown Steubenville filled with supporters from all over the country supporting Jane Doe—and all Jane Does.
I have received emails from around the world by people who have been moved by this case in some form or another. This case has created a social awareness about rape culture, and it has opened dialogues between parents and their children that it’s okay to be the lone man standing as long as you STAND.
It has forced parents to become more informed about how their children are using social media and how detrimental ones’ digital footprint can be, and it has given people an opportunity to speak out against injustice.
It has been a long, tumultuous and oftentimes agonizing journey that came with great cost to my family and myself personally and physically. My family and I are no different than others. We have feelings and compassion, unlike so many who stood by and chose to do nothing that night—or the adults who revictimized Jane Doe by making excuses for the abhorrent behavior of their own children.
I was targeted for speaking of that which should not be spoken, and as I sit here writing this, Jane Doe is receiving not only death threats from locals, but is also being maligned by Big Red students because their friends were convicted.
THIS is the sort of behavior that has caused the world outside of the Big Red bubble to recoil in disgust.
And it’s what has caused my world to be turned upside down.
I continued to cover the case on my blog, which had turned into a town hall of sorts. In October, I received a phone call from a friend and my “hello” was answered with, “Did you get sued?” I had no clue what my friend was talking about and I laughed and I said no. Jokingly I asked, “What did I do now?”
She told me that WTOV9 had just announced on the news that myself and twenty-five anonymous commenters from my blog were being sued for defamation of character. I think I laughed because I was shocked that anyone would file a defamation suit— especially since the lawsuit was filed by the man who it turns out was Jane Doe’s ex-boyfriend and tweeted the now infamous photo of her appearing lifeless and being carried like an animal.
My friends took to social media to tweet about the defamation case, and through the amazing Ken White and popehat.com I was able to assemble an amazing team of lawyers to assist in my defense of the right to free speech: Thomas Haren, Jeffrey Nye, and Marc Randazza. I was so worried about my anonymous commenters being retaliated against if their identities were revealed.
I spent countless hours emailing or on the phone reassuring them that we were going to get through this. I wasn’t going to leave them hanging, but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight either. We all had the right to talk about this case—and I wanted to protect that right. Through the awesomeness of my attorneys, we were able to involve the Ohio chapter of the ACLU to represent all of the John Doe defendants and the lawsuit was dismissed with prejudice on December 27, 2012.
Hatred is a very negative waste of time, however, it hasn’t stopped a small group of citizens of Steubenville from unleashing their fury upon me—all for standing up for the defenseless Jane Doe on that horrible night that changed her life forever.
I have been called a “slut,” a “drunk,” a “bitch with an agenda,” a “liar” and someone who hates Big Red so bad that my desire was to bring down their football program. I was accused in a letter to the editor in the local paper as using my blog as a vehicle which “has lent itself to character assassination and has begun to resemble a lynch mob.”
I was hospitalized for a week in November by the stress of the lawsuit that exacerbated a twenty-year-old health condition, and accused of lying about it to get attention. My mother was followed around for a week by private investigators hired by the family suing me and my photo was taken to business locations in the area asking, “Have you seen her?”
My mother and brother have been harassed online, and my recently deceased stepfather’s address and phone number were posted online. What is more despicable about posting his information is that he had just been in a horrible car accident, which ultimately took his life a month later.
Perhaps most ridiculously, I was accused of “complicating” the case because I posted the screen captures of content that these kids willingly posted themselves.
My best friend disavowed our friendship over this case. Imagine my utter devastation and hurt when I realized she was participating in some of the mudslinging against me. Her mother even joined the fray and used Twitter to state what a “fat sweat hog” and “bitch” I was, and how she wished I would “get AIDS and die a slow death.”
So would I do it all over again? ABSOLUTELY.
The verdict is finally in, but this story is far from over. The Ohio Attorney General’s office has ordered a grand jury to convene in April 2013 to investigate additional charges against others.
Today is one that is filled with many emotions: joy that Jane Doe is able to move on with her life now; sadness and compassion for all of the lives that were forever changed because of a night of bad decisions, and contempt for those who did nothing to stop this terrible chain of events. Because at the end of the day, the only agenda I have is simple.
Let’s prevent another Jane Doe from happening ever again. Let’s comfort the ones brave enough to stand up in the face of adversity. And let’s encourage all the Jane Does too afraid to come forward to have renewed strength and courage in the wake of the Steubenville verdict.
Because you are not alone.
Porn Director: I Changed My Mind about Condoms
Nica Noelle
“My chlamydia and gonorrhea test results aren’t back yet,” a nineteen-year-old I’ll call Cheryl said in a raspy whisper, her small hand covering her cell phone as the nurse at the clinic waited on the other end.
“Well, when do they think the results will be in?” I asked, trying not to sound panicked. My entire cast and crew was in the next room waiting for the results, which would clear her to perform hardcore sex on camera with a male costar.
“Probably not until Monday,” Cheryl said. “I’m so sorry, Nica.”
“Fuck,” I whispered, walking into one of the dark, empty rooms on the soundstage. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I was already several thousand dollars over budget due to production disasters and “no call/no show” performers. It was crucial that I finish the movie, but by law, there was only one way I could allow Cheryl to perform a sex scene without a current STD test: by allowing her costar to wear a condom.
I’d been told many times that condoms in porn meant certain death to sales. Conventional wisdom suggested that nobody wants condoms in their sexual fantasy. Porn was supposed to be an escape, not a public service announcement or a reminder that sex is dangerous or risky.
This was prior to 2012, when the controversial Measure B made condoms mandatory in porn—a law recently upheld, though it is still being fought by adult film producers who believe it’s catastrophic to our industry. For a long time I agreed with them, and though I’ve long struggled with the subject, here’s how much I didn’t want a condom in my film that day: I replaced Cheryl.
Actually, it was the president of the parent company who made that decision, but I’m the one who accepted it and had to break the news to Cheryl, who was surprisingly gracious about it. I’d come to porn hoping to change the way it was made, but that day, I felt like a scumbag.
I compare my career ascension in porn to falling into the rabbit hole, à la Alice in Wonderland. While working as a litigation paralegal and moonlighting as a journalist seven years ago, I got an assignment to write about the making of a fetish video. In order to do the job right, I decided to audition for a role in a spanking video and perform in it myself.
The experience was life changing: instead of feeling degraded, I’d left the shoot feeling oddly euphoric and—even more oddly— empowered. I began working for other adult film studios, including a small, unknown lesbian porn company whose owner operated out of his modest Encino, California, home. After using me as a model for several shoots, he offered me a job as creative director. My mission, he explained, was to transform his company from a niche studio into the “leader in lesbian erotica.” It meant quitting my job at the law firm and taking a huge pay cut, but I felt destiny knocking. Within a year, the studio was the talk of the adult industry and I was being hailed as a trailblazer in a “new era” of adult films.
And so, along with “suburban mom,” “journalist” and “paralegal,” I added “pornographer” (a label I proudly, defiantly claimed) to my resume. My overnight success gave me the confidence (or was it arrogance?) to think I might change not only what kind of movies fans watched but also how adult performers would be treated on set.
I’d heard stories of performers forced to have sex on dirt roads and in back alleys, on dirty carpets infested with fleas, and on semen-stained couches. I’d heard tales of porn “stars” being denied access to soap and showers, and given no food or drinks after twelve or more hours on set. Most adult performers also accepted as par for the course that they’d be sexually harassed not only by producers but also the lowliest members of the studio’s production crew.
Not on my set. It was time to borrow a playbook from the corporate environment I’d left behind.
My first rule: No one on my crew can “hit on” the talent. I explained to them that doing so places the performer in a tricky position, much like when a boss asks his secretary out and she agrees for fear of losing her job.
“Our performers are naked, and you are clothed,” I reminded my bewildered crew. “You’re in a position of authority, and you’re not to abuse it.” This rule made me instantly unpopular with male crew members, but I didn’t care. If they broke it more than once, they were fired.
Another rule: Nude performers would never be told to sit, lie down or perform sex acts on unwashed or unprotected surfaces. Counters and desktops would be thoroughly washed with antibacterial soap or spray, and beds and couches would have clean linens—either straight from the washing machine or brand-new from the store (I provided these myself). It was alarming how strange and even unreasonable my crew found these requests to be, despite the fact that staph infection was a constant problem on adult film sets and performers routinely canceled shoots citing a “spider bite.” (“Spider bite” had become something of a euphemism for “staph infection” in the adult industry.)
But the one thing I didn’t insist on was condoms. It was a given that we didn’t use them; that’s what our mandatory thirty-day STD tests were for. It was the “industry standard,” and while I didn’t hesitate to question other industry standards that might place performers in harm’s way (or just create an unpleasant environment), for some reason the condom issue sounded no alarms for me.
Perhaps that’s partially because I’m allergic to latex myself. If I have sex with a man who’s wearing a latex condom, within twenty-four hours of the encounter I’ll be in the throes of a painful urinary tract infection requiring powerful antibiotics. In my off-camera sex life I rely on STD tests, so why not rely on them at work, too? I’d performed in adult films myself and felt fine about simply verifying my scene partner’s current, negative STD test.
But there may have been a deeper, darker reason for my refusal to consider the question of condoms. While I’ve always said I wasn’t in porn for the money, the truth was that as my success grew I was increasingly concerned with career failure. I wanted my movies to keep selling, and on a practical level, I wanted to continue paying my rent and my child’s school tuition. I had worked hard to get where I was, damn it, and I wanted to build on that success, not sabotage it.
Which is of course what happens to many people who finally “make it.” They start drifting from the values and ideals they once stood for, and which may have even directly resulted in their success. I cherished the image I’d built of caring about performers’ welfare, but if “taking it too far” was going to threaten my chance to stay in business, why not just hide behind the old way of doing things? Why was I so hell-bent on being a saint? I suddenly (conveniently) wondered.
I actually kept a box of condoms on set in case a performer should request one. I’d assembled “hygiene kits” filled with items like baby wipes, shampoo, tampons, nail clippers, deodorant, douches and spermicide, so why not include condoms, just in case? But on the rare occasions a performer asked for one, I felt anxiety, even as I smiled and handed one over: Would I get in trouble with my studio for allowing it? What would it mean for sales? Why was the performer asking for a condom, anyway— didn’t she know it was a “condom-free” shoot? Why didn’t she tell me she had issues with it before accepting the role?
So, when the Measure B “condom law” was passed in November 2012, I loudly objected, along with thousands of other adult industry producers. Measure B was both dangerous and absurd, we argued. First of all, our testing system works, we reasoned, because we had successfully kept HIV out of the talent pool since 2004. Secondly, the condom law would simply force pornographers “underground,” where they could no longer be monitored or held accountable for violations in safety protocol (as if everyone in porn was already held accountable for any number of random, unethical behaviors). Our hard-won testing standards would erode as performers opted not to share their STD test results, or even to test at all. And not only that, what if the condom were to break and you didn’t know your scene partner’s HIV status? What if you were (like me) allergic to condoms and the condom law would end your career as a performer?
I made these arguments more than once, and I believed t
hem, but on a deeper, quieter level, I felt conflicted. What I knew was that, despite the validity of these “what if?” scenarios, and despite the fact that our testing system had been successful at keeping HIV out of the porn talent pool for nearly a decade, it had been far less successful in keeping out other STDs. I knew that condoms would help prevent the spread of diseases like chlamydia and gonorrhea, both of which are so common in the adult industry that a performer who learns he or she is infected doesn’t even bother to alert recent scene partners to their possible exposure. And while porn’s most commonly transmitted STDs are admittedly “curable” with a course of antibiotics, they can still have some fairly serious complications (e.g., infertility and increased vulnerability to the HIV virus).
I also couldn’t help noticing that while some performers seemed all but immune to porn’s most common STDs, others seemed to struggle with “dirty tests” constantly. I knew this because sometimes I’d try to book a certain performer only to be told by her agent that she wasn’t available until she could “take her medicine and retest.” Even if I’d been told the same thing about the same performer multiple times within the span of a few months, I wouldn’t miss a beat. “Tell me when she’s up and running again,” I’d say, and simply ask if one of my alternate choices was available instead. While I was vigilant about keeping my set staph-and-sexual-harassment-free, apparently chronic cases of chlamydia and gonorrhea—some of which might have very well been transmitted on my set—didn’t faze me.
But after a few heavily publicized HIV scares in the past few years, including four within the past few weeks (none of which turned out to have been contracted on set, nor transmitted to other adult film performers in the course of shooting a scene), it has become harder for many of us to avoid the question of whether condoms might not be such a bad idea. In terms of sales they’re risky, but when considering performer safety, is there really a solid argument against a testing/condom combination? Yes, some producers might continue to shoot condom-free porn anyway, but is that any excuse for the rest of us to avoid taking steps to protect our performers?