Graham James was in court in Winnipeg the other day for a sentencing hearing. Reports from the scene described junior hockey’s most infamous sexual predator as “frail,” and “older and greyer” than the portly young Prairie coach we came to know in bygone years.
The 59-year-old spoke “softly,” expressing “regret” for his crimes, while his lawyer painted a portrait of a changed man, a man that deserved a 12- to 18-month conditional sentence that would allow him to remain free in the community.
James, in 2012, the court heard, was a different person than the monster that used his position of trust — and the promise of NHL stardom on the other side of a twisted rainbow — to destroy the lives of young boys.
Boys like Theo Fleury, like Todd Holt, like Sheldon Kennedy, and others. Fleury, among them, found NHL stardom. He lived the dream, though his version included runaway drug and alcohol abuse, marital disaster, a broken relationship with his children, sex addiction and a pile of emotional demons that convinced him to put a gun in his mouth to put an end to the pain.
“I was just a kid. A child. I was completely under Graham James’s control. And I was scared. I did not have the emotional skills, the knowledge, or the ability to stop the rapes,” Fleury wrote in a victim impact statement that was read aloud in court.
“The pain was all encompassing. And no matter how many NHL games I won, or how much money I made or fame I gained, [it] could [not] dull the pain of having been sexually abused by Graham James.
“His sickness changed my life, changed the lives of everyone that was close to me, and caused more pain than can be measured.”
Fleury did not pull the trigger on a lonely night in New Mexico. Neither should Judge Carrena Roller. Not on a conditional sentence. Not even on the six-year term the Crown is seeking in this case.
So often we read the same, sad story. It gets dizzying. Maddening. A monster commits horrific crimes, preying on our most innocent — our children— hurting them repeatedly, destroying their self-esteem, their childhood, their lives. And some don’t turn back from the precipice, like Fleury did. Some never talk about it. All are never the same.
As for the abuser, they get locked up for a few years — two, three, five, whatever. That is modern justice. But in sexual abuse cases, what passes for justice is completely out of step with what is morally just.
Victims of pedophiles get a life sentence. They are not granted bail, paroled and put on probation. Studies indicate that, long term, they are prone to an encyclopedia of psychological issues: depression, anxiety, inability to trust others, a sense of isolation, shame, sexual maladjustment, drug and alcohol problems, to name a few.
Sexually abused children are also 10 times more likely to commit suicide than the average population. Ten times.
And for this, and for everything else Graham James wrought, he says sorry. Sorry? It is an unusual apology, especially since he kept it to himself for three decades, a stretch that saw him ruin lives and then express his everlasting remorse by first running off to Spain to coach and then hiding out in Mexico until a CBC investigative reporter shoe-horned him out of his rabbit hole in 2010.
Theo Fleury refers to himself as a survivor, as do James’ other victims. Like all survivors the scars they carry are permanent.
Graham James stole 20 years of Fleury’s life. As a jail sentence, 20 years sounds like a good place to start.