My annual Hero of the Year award usually comes up in December, but this year I can’t wait. I’ve already picked the person who I think has most changed the world of crime and justice during 2011.
My hero is Jaycee Dugard. She was held as a sex slave until finally rescued, and now instead of being withdrawn or bitter, she has embraced us all with details of her harrowing story and formed a charitable organization to help other families recovering from abduction.
Dugard’s ordeal began when she was 11 years old. Now she’s 30 and finally free of a pair of kidnappers — a convicted sex offender named Phillip Garrido and his accomplice-wife, Nancy. They used a stun gun to pluck little Jaycee off a country road in South Lake Tahoe in June 1991 as she waited for a school bus one morning. She remembers clawing at the ground to try to escape, clutching a pine cone as her last touch with freedom.
You’ve likely heard about the torment Dugard endured, including giving birth to two daughters (the first at age 14) fathered by her rapist, and how his wife helped hold Dugard captive for 18 years. An almost unbelievable addendum to the story: During all those years, Garrido’s probation officers never noticed Dugard — and then the two little girls — living in a maze of backyard tents during their regular home visits.
In Dugard’s memoir, A Stolen Life, published this year, she recounts in almost childlike terms how caring for stray animals — and later her two children — helped her keep her humanity and her sanity. She was sadistically used for sex. She was forced to pretend she was her babies’ sister, not their mother, and to use the name Allisa. Not a day went by, Dugard wrote, that she didn’t remember her mother, baby sister and her beloved aunt. For 18 years, all Dugard wanted was to go home.
Last year, the state of California reached a $20 million settlement with Dugard, admitting that its Corrections Department had “various lapses (that contributed to) Dugard’s continued captivity, ongoing sexual assault and mental and/or physical abuse.”
Translated: The state messed up — big time — by failing to keep not only Dugard safe but others who might have caught the eye of the pervert Garrido. Within the last category may have been his daughters with Dugard, who were 15 and 11 at the time they were all rescued.
Twenty million dollars is an enormous sum of money with which to start new lives, but of course, money can never get back all the years lost, the loss of Dugard’s innocence and, as she put it in her book, her ability to deal with “the complications of life.” Thankfully, she and the girls were freed from their backyard prison — but Jaycee had never learned to make solo decisions, drive a car, make a doctor’s appointment or live on her own. All that money can’t erase the psychological problems she and her daughters may face in the years ahead.
Earlier this month, Dugard sued the federal government for failing to monitor Garrido even though it had declared him “a sexual deviant and chronic drug abuser” in 1976, when he was on trial for the sexual assault of another young girl.
The feds also learned that Garrido had struck as a sexual predator as early as 1972, leaving a 14-year-old female victim so traumatized that she refused to testify against him. In 1977, Garrido was sentenced to a 50-year federal prison term but he was inexplicably out in just 11 years. Two years later, he kidnapped Dugard.
Everyone who should have known was well aware of Garrido’s long and sordid history, yet no federal probation officer ever stepped out into the backyard and asked, “Hey, what’s back here?”
Dugard didn’t file the lawsuit because she’s greedy for herself. She’s already dedicated a portion of her book profits and her settlement with the state of California to establish the JAYC Foundation (Just Ask Yourself to Care) to help families heal. Their logo, displayed on necklaces available for a small donation, is a tiny pine cone. Dugard says any money she realizes from the suit against the federal government will go directly to the foundation.
“The pine cone is my reminder that life can always be restarted,” Dugard said. “My hope is to provide counseling and housing for families and victims ... during the crucial early days of reconnection.”
Dugard has done more than survive. She has dedicated what could turn out to be millions of dollars to help others. She’s giving families of the missing hope. She’s put parole boards on notice, nationwide, that they need to find a way to help overworked officers be alert and aware when dealing with the craftiest of criminals — the career sex predator.
And Dugard has done one more thing: By finding enough courage to admit who she was to a curious law enforcement officer (who never would have recognized the kidnap victim 18 years after the crime), she paved the way for her daughters to finally learn who their mother is.
— Diane Dimond is the author of Cirque Du Salahi: Be Careful Who You Trust. Click here for more information. She can be contacted at .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address).
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